Tides of Chaos: The 134th Hunger Games
by TitaniaTinuviel
Summary: In a world where the Mockingjay's rebellion failed, the Hunger Games are still the top form of entertainment for the Capitol citizens. While the tributes all think they have an idea of what to expect, no one could predict what was waiting for them in that arena. Ladies and gentlemen, the 134th Hunger Games are about to begin. **SYOT CLOSED**
1. Tributes

**Turner Hill**

I have one of the greatest opportunities of a lifetime. After years of scheming and plotting, it's all coming together for me. I was the son of an Avox, born from nothing but now… now I am the Head Gamemaker of the 134th Hunger Games. I have clawed my way to power, and I will not lose it.

Some in the Capitol are saying how the Games are becoming boring, how they haven't had real excitement in years. It was this claim that brought about the fall of my predecessor. Our President, Barron Snow, has made it clear that if I do not live up to his lofty expectations, I will end up an Avox, the same as my father, or worse. But I will not fall. I have spent too many years getting to this position to lose it now.

I glance down at my tribute list, at the players in my Games. They are meaningless to me, just a means to an end… but for the citizens of the Capitol, one will become a celebrity. But as for me, I have a different plan in mind. No one will leave my arena. Even the winner will never truly be free.

Because in these Games, I don't just plan on watching these children kill each other, oh no. That won't do at all. I have something much different in mind.

In these Games, I will capture these players minds. And I have no intention of ever letting them go.

District 1 Male: Jem Glori-17

District 1 Female: Sorelle Keylock-18

District 2 Male: Nero Casteran-18

District 2 Female: Leta McClain-18

District 3 Male: Percy Kilo-17

District 3 Female: Siri Sparks-15

District 4 Male: Zale Turk Asturias-18

District 4 Female: Pearlia Beta Poplawski-18

District 5 Male: Jaxs Williams-18

District 5 Female: Aurora Noechel-18

District 6 Male: Malik Hudson-18

District 6 Female: Aspen Flatt-13

District 7 Male: Rotto Mangle-15

District 7 Female: Patricia Norton-14

District 8 Male: Samuel Livingston-18

District 8 Female: Bree Craban-17

District 9 Male: Barley Green-17

District 9 Female: Milla Waves-13

District 10 Male: Malinois Ferguson-16

District 10 Female: Phoenix Grey-16

District 11 Male: Rye King-18

District 11 Female: Scythe Johnsyn-18

District 12 Male: Jake Conway-15

District 12 Female: Liza Mannings-15

**A/N: This is how I'm going to keep track of my tribute list. This way, you'll also be able to see which spots are open, and once the Games begin, I'll leave this list up so you can keep track of what tributes are from what District. As well as the tributes, we will be getting regular POV's from our Head Gamemaker here, so I hope this piqued your interest! Keep sending me tributes, I'm excited to work with them.**

**~TT**


	2. Reapings: Districts 1 and 9

**A/N: So, I know that reaping scenes can get awfully repetitive in SYOT stories, but they're necessary to introduce all the tributes. I decided that I'll be doing two districts at a time, not in order, to hopefully get them out of the way a bit quicker, and this will also get the story going while we're still filling up the tribute list. Without further ado, here are the reapings for Districts 1 and 9. Hope you enjoy!**

Jem Glori, the Confident Charmer

District 1 Male

I crack my neck in impatience as I watch my older brother, Glam, with a crazed smile on his face, tackle his opponent to the ground, pinning him down with one forearm in the other boy's neck. Glam's other hand holds a knife above the boy on the floor, easily showing that, were this a real fight, the boy would be dead.

"That's the fight!" the trainer calls out, and Glam gets off, making sure to press his weight through his forearm to push himself to his feet. He carelessly throws the knife across the training center and stands next to the trainer while the other boy glares at him, massaging his throat.

"We have our volunteer for these Hunger Games!" the trainer shouts, lifting Glam's hand. Glam punches the air with his fist, throwing an exceptionally cocky smile in my direction, just because he knew how badly I wanted this opportunity to be mine. But I smile back, because little does Glam know, his moment of triumph is going to be so short lived.

Glam and I have trained for the Games all our lives. Both of us have dreamed of winning and bringing home the glory and prestige that goes with winning the Games. This year, Glam put all his energy into being chosen as the male tribute for District 1. Technically, since I was a year younger, I wouldn't have been considered until I was eighteen. But I knew, that if Glam went into the Games first, and especially if he had won, I never would have earned the fame in my own right; I'd always be sharing with Glam.

I'm not very good at sharing.

I had pushed myself harder than ever this year in my training to make sure I could beat Glam for the top spot. In most areas, I had become better than him. I had forced my way into the bracket system we used in the training center to determine who would be the volunteer. But I had been too confident. I was slated to go up against a couple days ago in the semi-finals. I had made a small mistake and Glam, who knew all about my strengths and especially my weaknesses, had pressed his advantage to beat me.

My trainer had tried to console me, saying that, unlike most in the bracket, I still had another year to be eligible for the Games. But that didn't matter. I wanted my victory without it being tainted by Glam.

So while Glam was taken to meet the mentor for District 1, I picked up a sword and methodically went through my warm-ups whenever I trained with the weapon. But in my mind, I went over my plan one last time, to make sure it would go off without a hitch.

Though we had a carefully designed volunteering system in the district, our escort was never told beforehand who the volunteer was supposed to be. If I could just be quicker at volunteering than Glam, I would be the one to go into the arena instead of him. And Glam couldn't challenge me, because that would be openly admitting to the rest of Panem that we were trained. Though I'm sure the rest of the country knows we're trained, the Capitol still doesn't want this information broadcast since it's technically against the rules. They give District 1 a pass however, since we had been one of the first Districts to end our rebellions, both during the Dark Days and the Mockingjay's Rebellion nearly sixty years ago.

I would have to volunteer, of course, before they officially asked for them. That would be the only way to be quicker than Glam. I would definitely be angering some people, but as long as I came back, it wouldn't matter. Everyone would swear that they knew from the beginning that I had what it takes.

I don't dwell on the possibility that I won't come back. It's not an option for me. I've trained my whole life for this, and I know that I'm good enough. The District 2 tributes would probably be my biggest challenge, but I as long as we were allies for a while, I would be able to figure out their weaknesses and be able to take them down.

"Alright, that's enough! The Reaping starts in two and a half hours, clear out for the day. Make sure you're all there to cheer on our tributes!" the trainer calls out. I put my sword away, and as I'm using a towel to wipe off the seat on my forehead, my best friend Hale finds me.

"You still going to volunteer man?" he asks in a low voice so we won't be overheard. I nod my head. He's and my other friend Chime are the only ones who know of my plans, and I'd like to keep is that way. I can't risk Glam finding out about what I intend to do.

"I'm better than Glam. We all know that," I scoff. "He got lucky the other day, that's all. I'm not going into the Games with his shadow over my head. I'll build my own reputation, my own fame."

Hale claps me on the shoulder. "Well good luck, I hope it work out. And hey, just think of all the awesome parties we'll be able to have once you come back." I grin at him and bump his fist as we part ways. I'll meet up with him again at the Reaping once I'm ready.

"Hello dear," my mother greets me as I walk into my house. I nod at her as my own greeting before quickly heading upstairs to my bedroom to change. I don't mention that Glam won the competition today, he'll tell her himself. I debated whether or not to tell her of my own plans, but I think she'd try to talk me out of it and I don't need anyone trying to plant doubts in my head. I feel slightly guilty, but it's not like it will be a permanent goodbye. I don't have a particularly close relationship with my mother, but I do respect her, and beyond that, I'm grateful she got us away from my father.

My father is the only person I've ever feared. I only have the vaguest memories of him since we left when I was so young, but I do remember shouting voices, the smell of alcohol, and pain whenever I got in the way when he stumbled home drunk. And he was always drunk.

My mother managed to leave him when I was only three. I don't know if he forgot about us, didn't want to put in the effort of finding us, or just didn't care. All I know is I haven't seen him in fifteen years, and if I ever have it my way, I won't ever see him again. I don't even know if he's alive. I'd be happier if he wasn't.

It worries me slightly that he might try to seek us out again if I win, to try and benefit from the wealth I will be showered with. But if he tries that, I know I'll be able to have him arrested for harassing a victor. I might even kill him myself if I can hold my fears of him at bay.

I take a quick shower and wash up before getting into my reaping outfit. It's the standard for anyone across Panem, just a dress shirt and pants. At least mine is in good shape, unlike the patches I've occasionally seen in tributes from poorer districts. I carefully arrange my black hair so that it looks effortlessly messy. I want to make a good impression on the Capitol citizens, hopefully to earn a few early sponsors, and I know that my looks are an easy way to do that.

By the time I'm done, Glam has already left for the Reaping, clearly eager since he thinks this year will be his. I smirk to myself again. He'll never be a tribute. This will be the last year he's eligible. Maybe, if Glam hadn't won the right to volunteer this year, I might back off for a year. That way, I wouldn't have had to worry about his glory overshadowing mine. But no, this is my one chance to do this, and I won't hesitate.

I make my own way over to the reaping, meeting up with Hale and Chime on the way. Hale and I recount Glam's fight with the other boy today, and she recounts her own training, assuring that she has no plans to volunteer and hasn't heard any definitive plans of anyone else to volunteer either. While girls are still trained in District 1, they don't have a formal volunteer system like the boys do. It isn't uncommon to have a female volunteer, but it's not a guarantee like it is with the males.

We sign in and then are roped off into our individual sections. Chime wishes me luck as Hale and I join the other seventeen-year-old males. I make sure to position myself at the forefront of the group. I see Glam one section ahead of me, laughing, joking, and probably showing off with his friends. His smile will soon be wiped off his face.

Soon enough, the Reaping gets underway. Our mayor reads the Treaties of Treason, both the one from the Dark Days and the updated one after the Mockingjay's Rebellion. I tap my foot in impatience, just wanting to get on with the Reaping. Finally, the escort takes the stage and greets us. She digs around the female reaping ball for a moment before selecting a name.

"Sorelle Keylock!" she calls out. A tall girl comes out from the girl's side. I don't know her personally, but I do recognize the cat mask she's wearing. She's an urchin, living off the streets and generally making trouble for anyone she comes across. It was even rumored she killed someone a couple years ago, but no one caught her doing it. The escort asks for volunteers, but this year, there is no one.

Finally, she walks over the male's ball. I'm bouncing on my toes now, filled with anticipation. "Spark Finch!" she announces.

I don't wait for her to ask for volunteers. I don't even wait for the boy to reach the stage. "I volunteer!" I shout out, crawling out from the rope that holds in my section. The escort is slightly taken aback, but welcomes me onto the stage, asking for my name.

"Jem Glori," I announce, smiling right into the livid face of my brother. "And I'm going to be this year's victor."

Sorelle Keylock, the Abused Survivor

District 1 Female

As I stand in the section marked off for the eighteen-year-old girls, everyone else gives me a wide berth. But I'm used to it, and more comfortable than I would be if they were all crowding around me. Some of the girls are whispering to each other and pointing in my direction, but I shrug it off. I can handle whispering, it's far more innocent than the things usually said to my face. At least whispers can't physically hurt me.

As the mayor goes through the usual readings of our history, the Treaties of Treason, and the list of past victors. I tune most of it out. I don't particularly like the fact that we have to celebrate watching a fight to the death every year, not after what I've been through. I've fought against death every day for years now. Instead of listening to the words, I pick at the holes in my jeans. Ryan offered to buy me something else to wear to the Reaping instead, but I had refused him. He has been too kind and generous to me already, and I'm waiting for the day to come when I'll have to repay him in some way. And besides, my ratty clothes, much like the mask on my face, are a security blanket for me.

Finally, the escort takes the place of the mayor and walks over to the reaping balls. She digs around the girl's names for a moment before pulling out a slip of paper and walks back over to the microphone. "Sorelle Keylock!" she calls out for the whole crowd to hear.

My face goes white with shock, and I'm grateful for the mask that I always wear. It will conceal my emotions now. I nervously walk up towards the stage, keeping one eye trained on the Peacekeepers. They've been looking to pin me down for a crime for years, and even now they could punish me for the stealing I did a couple years ago. I had managed to outrun them then, but I knew that even if I ran now, I wouldn't be able to escape this time. However, most of them are smirking to themselves when they see me mount the stage. I suppose they think going into the Games is enough of a punishment for me.

The escort asks for volunteers, but I don't hold my breath for any. While some of the wealthier girls in the district train, we don't have female volunteers every year, unlike with male tributes. And no one would ever volunteer for me out of sympathy.

No one would be willing to volunteer for a murderer's daughter.

My mother was never a murderer. But she had offended the Capitol, and I soon learned that to do so was to sign your own death warrant. When I was very young, some stylists in the Games had contacted her about making masks for their tributes at the opening ceremonies, and she had refused. The Capitol didn't like that. So they turned on my mother, instructing the Peacekeepers to spread rumors throughout the district. And they worked. They worked so well that when a child had gone missing twelve years ago, no one doubted for a second the Lovae Keylock was to blame.

I jumped in fright when the escort crossed in front of me to reap the male tribute. I must remember to control that. I'd always been skittish, and while my mask can hide my facial emotions, it can't hide the natural reactions of my body. I don't want the other tributes to immediately decide that I'm a target.

I don't hear the name of the boy that was reaped. I wasn't sure anyone did. Our escort has only just begun speaking when a boy jumps out of his section, screaming for everyone to hear that he would volunteer. There are murmurs in the crowd, probably questioning why he didn't wait for the escort to formally ask for volunteers, but what does it matter? No matter who the male tribute was this year, he was sure to be the favorite of the district. No one here would root for me.

The boy announces himself as Jem Glori and proclaims that he will win the Games as our escort asks us to shake hands. I extend my hand from under my hoodie. He raises his eyebrows at my bandaged skin and lets go of my hand very quickly, as though he's afraid that I'll dirty him somehow.

Afterwards, we're supposed to go into the Justice Building and wait for visitors. The Peacekeepers attempt to grab my arms and march me in themselves, but I instinctually flinch away from them and dart into the room before they can touch me. I'm only expecting one person, and sure enough, before long Ryan enters the room.

"Can I hug you?" he asks. I hesitate but nod slowly. He puts his arms around me briefly, knowing me well enough to understand that I wouldn't be able to handle much longer than that.

Ryan will be the only one to miss me while I'm gone. He's the only person who cares for me, the only person that believes the truth about my mother. "I can try and help you this year," he begins. "I don't know how much they'll let me do, but I can always try—"

"No, you can't," I stop him before he can get any further. "You have a chance for something better than this, don't risk it for me." Even though I'm cautioning him, I can't look him in the eye. District 1 was lucky after the Mockingjay's Rebellion. The district turned back to the Capitol's side once it became obvious the rebels were going to lose. They had been rewarded for that. Now, some Peacekeepers came from District 1, and sometimes men were asked to be guards at the Capitol for a few months at a time. Ryan had been one of these men a couple years ago, when he'd been asked to be a guard for a Gamemaker. I don't know the specifics, but the Gamemaker had seen something in Ryan that he'd liked. And now Ryan was going back to the Capitol this year, not quite as highly ranked as a Gamemaker, but enough to see how the system worked.

I don't know why Ryan would want to be a Gamemaker. He doesn't have the temperament for one. He saved me a couple years ago, protected me when I'd had no one else. Why would he want to assist with the deaths of so many innocents?

And I've never said this, but I don't believe the Capitol will ever let him be a true Gamemaker. He's still from a district after all. They'll just dangle the opportunity in front of him to keep him under their thumb. And he'll never be able to say no, now that he knows what happened to my family. He knows the consequences of refusing the Capitol.

"Listen, Sorelle," he begins after a few moments of silence. "You can win. You've survived everything else in your life before. This can't really be much harder, can it? You can deal with pain and hunger just fine, surely you can make it through this too?"

I'm shaking my head before he can finish. "I can't kill these children," I whisper. "I won't attack them in cold blood."

"You might not need to," he says slowly. "Just survive. Outlive them all. Only fight in self-defense. I just… I don't want to lose you. You're my best friend."

I squirm uncomfortably. To this day, I don't understand why Ryan helped me when he found me hiding in his attic when it would have been so much easier for him to turn me into the Peacekeepers. He taught me to read, gave me food and shelter, and even let me create masks to sell at his antique shop. He's never told me why, and I've never plucked up enough courage to ask. He could have much better friends than I, but ever since we've met he's been unswervingly loyal.

"I… I guess I can try," I murmur. "I can survive in the arena, but I don't know if I can kill. But… I'll try for you," I decide. That seems to be enough for him.

"Then I'll see you when you return," he smiles. He seems to be going in for another hug when the Peacekeepers arrive to escort him out. I have just enough time to whisper a goodbye to him.

I don't expect to be visited by anyone else and I'm not disappointed. No one but Ryan would wish me luck. I hear a steady flow of voices from next door, and I assume these are Jem's well-wishers. I also hear some shouting at some point, but I can't make out the words.

The Peacekeepers come again to take us to the train station, and I manage to shake them off from touching me once more. There are cameras and reporters at the train station, shouting questions from everywhere around me. I immediately shy back and try to dart around them, hoping to get into the train as quickly as possible. But Jem is clearly playing up to the cameras and answering reporter's questions with such confidence that it's almost hard not to believe him.

They won't let me enter the train without him, so I'm left to awkwardly duck my head and ignore the cameras as best I can. I can't escape their gazes however, not with my height. At six foot five, I'm one of the tallest in my district. My fellow tribute is quite tall himself, but I could see when we shook hands that I easily had a few inches over him.

Finally, the escort returns with two people who I assume are our mentors and this is our cue to board the train. I jump on as soon as the doors open, only too eager to leave the cameras behind. I know that I'll be broadcast to the whole country for the entirety of the Games, and I welcome these last few moments of relative solitude.

I'm sure I'll be expected to go out later and meet my mentor, but for now I hide in the bedroom that's been assigned to me. I sit on the bed and pull my mask off now that I'm alone, holding it in my hands.

I run my fingers over the designs of butterflies and flowers. Even though it's nearly as old as I am and has been through the ringer, it's still in great condition. The Games allow for tributes to bring a token, and I'm determined that this will be mine.

It's the only thing I have left of my mother. It's the only thing I have left of the life I led twelve years ago, when I was actually happy. As I stare into the designs, I feel a hot surge of anger, something very unfamiliar to me.

The Capitol took my parents from me. I don't want to let them take me too.

Milla Waves, the Anxious Sneak

District 9 Female

The first thing I hear in the morning is screaming. But what I see is much more disturbing than any screams. There's a body at my feet, blood pooling around it, eyes wide and glassy, not seeing anything….

"Milla, Milla, shhhh, it's not real, it's not real. I've got you, you're safe." The voice barely registers to me at first, but as the words keep coming, I finally recognize my older sister Lilith. My eyes fly open, and I find myself wrapped in Lilith's arms. The hoarseness I feel in my throat told me that I'd been the source of the screams I'd heard.

I take deep, gasping breaths in an attempt to calm myself and bury my face in my sister's shirt. She continues to soothe me and runs her hand over my hair. "I've got you, I've got you, you're safe," she murmurs into my ear over and over.

She calms me down better than anyone else ever could, but it doesn't work completely. If my dream had been just a dream, I might not be so scared, but it had never been just a dream. It was a memory.

I hadn't known the man who had died. And I'd seen death countless times in the Hunger Games before. But something about seeing a murder first-hand, to be actually looking at a dead body when I was ten terrified me as nothing else I'd ever experienced.

Only Lilith seemed to know what to do. She was patient with me when I woke from my frequent nightmares. She would take the longer way home with me from school so I wouldn't have to pass by the alley where it had happened again. But most of all, she didn't let my anxiety scare her. She continued to love me just the same, treating me as she'd always done.

"I don't want to go to the Reaping," I moan into her shirt, but I know that I have no choice. If death scares me more than anything, disobeying the law comes in at a close second. I don't know what the penalty is for skipping out on the Reaping, especially since I was still eligible for the Games, and I had no plans of finding out.

Technically, I was almost about as safe as you could get. I only had two slips in the Reaping this year. And unlike last year, I didn't have to worry about Lilith. She was now nineteen, and safe from the Games. She'd been in far more danger than me. She'd taken out some tesserae each year she was eligible but wouldn't let me do the same. We weren't well off by any means, but we were managing to get by.

"Tell you what. Let's make you nice and pretty for the reaping, and before it begins we'll go and get something from the market to have for tonight. How does that sound?" she suggests. I know she's trying to stay upbeat so that I'll be distracted. I know it won't work completely, but I am grateful for the effort.

I splash some cold water on my face from our irony tap water. This usually serves as our drinking water as well, but for the past couple years we've actually been able to have a small bit of milk on Reaping days! I'm hoping that we've saved enough this year to do the same, because something to look forward to, no matter how small, will also be a welcome distraction.

When I return back to my room, Lilith waits with one of her old Reaping dresses. I'm surprised she wants me to wear this, since she's always been so much taller than I am, but I get another surprise when I find she altered the dark blue material to fit my height. It's these little gifts that really show how lucky I am to have a sister like Lilith. She's almost like a second mother to me. My actual mother loves me, I know that, and so does my father, but neither of them really knew what to do after I broke down. Lilith was the only person I had during those dark times.

After I'm in my dress and Lilith finishes a few stitches to get it just right, she brushes out my long hair methodically for a while. I actually find myself nodding off a bit while she does this. Her running her fingers or a brush through my hair was one of the only ways I used to be able to get to sleep. I feel safe, which is an unusual but most welcome feeling for me. I cling onto moments like this since they're so few and far between.

Since I had woken both of us so early this morning, it's still a couple hours before I have to sign in for the Reaping when Lilith is finished getting me ready, and we have time to go to the market. Usually, the market is always bustling with people haggling over prices and, occasionally, they'll hold auctions here as well. But today, it's quite empty, only a few people here and there looking through shop windows. I quite like the market, but it's not often that I come here. I get so nervous in large crowds that I tend to break down. Even still, I'm not completely calm, but Lilith's hand in mine, so strong and comforting, helps me to walk around with as much confidence as I can muster.

I'm content to mostly window shop, fascinated with what I see now that there aren't so many people around. Another reason that I'm so scared of crowds is because of my stature. I'm so small and petite that it's so easy for me to get lost in large groups of people. Being separated and alone is one of my biggest fears. But here, I can walk freely with Lilith.

I take in as much as I can. I see an older boy buying some bread from Duke, one of the older vendors. He's been around for so long that I remember not really wanting to go near him before I had such paralyzing anxiety. Bartering is common in the market, and he never seemed to want much to do it. But the boy seems to know him well. They have a quiet but seemingly easy conversation and they're clearly not arguing over the price of the bread.

Across the street, there's a young woman selling small trinkets. While I spend too much time looking at these, I know that we won't ever be able to afford it. Still, I can't stop myself from gawking at them every time we come near her booth.

Finally, Lilith and I decide to get small bowls of rice before the Reaping. Since our District is responsible for harvesting grain, rice isn't something that's too far out of the ordinary here, but for poorer families like us, it is a rare delicacy. Most of our diet consists of bread and some fruits that grow in our fields. The Capitol prefers to get their fruit from District 11 so we're able to save most of what we grow here.

Today's rice is as good as I've ever tasted, and more importantly, it distracts me. Lilith and I sit outside and eat our small bowls, talking about school for me and work for her. When she went to go work in the grain fields a few years ago, having the extra income kept her from having to take out tesserae any longer, and has prevented me from taking any to begin with. I know that I'll be expected to work there as well when I'm a little older but the prospect doesn't excite me. I'm hoping that maybe I can get a job in one of the granaries instead, where I won't have to do anything much harder than sorting the grain. That sort of methodical job appeals to me.

Just as Lilith and I are finishing our meal, a bell tolls in the district square. Lilith lets out a big breath and I tense up my body. I'm expected in the square now. I can't hide any longer. The Reaping is about to begin.

"Let's go," Lilith murmurs. She takes me hand again and leads me over where I'll go to sign in. Last year, I had her the whole time with me until we had to go in our different sections. But this year, she has to drop me off before heading to the fringes of the square with everyone else who isn't eligible. I assume she'll meet up with our parents there. I begin to tremble as soon as she's out of sight. I know she's not far, but there are so many people here and I've never had to go through this process along before.

After I sign in, I stand alone with the other thirteen-year-old girls. I recognize many of them from school, but I don't talk with them or even offer much of a greeting. I just nod my head if I accidentally make eye contact. Like my parents, my friends didn't really know how to handle me after I broke down, and I became distant from everyone. I wish I had more courage to rekindle some of the friendships I've had, but I wouldn't even know where to being now. For all I know, they might not even accept me back. They might hate me, thinking I abandoned them even though that was never my intent.

It's not until now that it really hits me how much danger I'm in. I only have two slips this year, but last year I had known that there was no way I would go into the arena. Even though I wouldn't have wanted her to, I know that if I had been reaped, Lilith would have taken my place. But this year, Lilith is too old. If I'm reaped, that will be the end for me. No one else would volunteer. We're not a Career district. For us, reaping is practically a death sentence, not a chance to earn glory.

I'm shaking terribly again by the time the Mayor begins to read the history of Panem and the Treaties of Treason. As always, the tension mounts when he reads about the failure of the Mockingjay's Rebellion. District 9 had joined just like every other District had, but it wasn't as heavily involved as some of the other Districts. Districts 7, 8, 11, and 12 were punished horribly for their parts in the rebellion, and 12 was nearly wiped out. It wasn't until after the rebellion had been successfully put down that the Capitol realized they still needed the coal District 12 had provided so a punishment for anyone caught putting even just one toe out of line for many years was being sent to live in 12. It's been almost sixty years now since the Mockingjay's Rebellion, but from what we learned in school, District 12 is still small and poor, even more so before the rebellion began. District 13, on the other hand, was wiped out, for good this time.

After the failure of the Mockingjay's Rebellion is recounted, the mayor talks about how Panem was reborn and a new age began. He says that we should be grateful for the Capitol for forgiving us. Some people shake their heads, but they know better than to speak out. The Mockingjay's Rebellion was the last real chance the Districts had since they had 13 on their side. If they failed sixty years ago, no one is fooled into thinking we would last another rebellion.

Finally, after this speech, our escort takes the stage. She attempts to make some jokes to lighten the mood since the entire square has grown somber since the reading of the history. She quickly sees that this isn't going to work and frowns before heading to the reaping balls. She grabs the first slip she touches and heads to the microphone. I'm shaking harder than ever now out of fear of the unknown….

"Milla Waves!" she announces for all the district to hear. I hear a wounded cry, and I vaguely register that it's my sister making the sound. But I can't feel anything. I'm completely numb. I don't even register walking up to the stage until I'm there.

It's only once I'm looking out at everyone that the fear kicks in. Soon enough, I can't see them anymore. I'm once again trapped in my old nightmare, of watching a knife being twisted into a man's chest, of hearing his screams as he drowned into his own blood.

And now that I'm part of the Hunger Games, I'm going to be forced to watch death again.

Barley Green, the Kind Learner

District 9 Male

"Nice doing business with you as always, Duke," I say, nodding my head towards the old seller. He inclines his head toward me as well, dropping the coins I gave him into an old till. My wallet is considerably lighter than it had been when I left the house this morning, but I keep on good terms with Duke. He might not barter like others, but he always sets a fair price and I don't have to worry about him trying to scam me like some of the other merchants. And I can always count on solid goods from him.

I keep the bread wrapped in the thin wax paper and stuff it under my jacket to keep it protected. It hasn't rained yet, but the morning sky is gray. The weather in 9 is always unpredictable, so I'd rather be safe than sorry.

I glance over my shoulder at the jeweler's small table that a couple girls are just leaving. There are a few rings on display and for a moment I'm tempted to ask the price, but I master the impulse and manage to walk away. Nellie already said yes. She said she didn't need a fancy ring. But that doesn't stop me from wishing I could give the world and more to her. She more than deserves it.

I trudge through the streets to make my way to Nellie's house. I knock on the door and she answers almost immediately, as though she was waiting at the door.

"You're late," she accuses, but the grin on her face let's me know that she's just teasing. Still, I play along. It's good to have these lighthearted moments before the Reaping.

"Sorry, but I brought a truce item," I smile, pulling the loaf of bread out from underneath my jacket. "Mind if I come in?" She stands aside so I can come over the threshold and I kiss her quickly before sitting down at the small table in the room. She grabs a knife and begins to cut the bread into careful slices.

"To your last Reaping," I toast, lifting my bread up to touch hers. She attempts to smile for a moment, but she can't hide the worry in her eyes from me.

"What are we going to do if it's one of us this year?" she whispers, twisting the woven grain around her ring finger. I grab her hand to stop her fidgeting and look her deep in the eyes.

"We can't think about that," I murmur firmly. "We'll be fine, and I'll make it through next year as well. And then we'll get married. I promise." I seal my words by kissing the back of her hand. She seems calmed somewhat, but only not hearing our names later will ever truly alleviate her worry.

We quickly eat our slices of bread, deciding to save the rest of it for tonight, and then head on over to the Reaping. Waiting until the last minute isn't going to make things any easier.

On the way, we catch up with our friend Arny. I clap him on the back as we're signing in. "All good brother?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I'm doing alright," he shrugs. "How're you two holding up?"

"As well as can be expected," I sigh. I turn to kiss Nellie one last time before she's led off into the girl's section, while Arny and I head into the area for the other seventeen-year-old males as we continue our conversation. "She's nervous, but this is her last Reaping. As long as she's safe this year, I won't have to worry anymore." I don't bother to add that even if I'm safe as well this year, I still have one more year to go. But Nellie's safety is so much more of a priority that my own worries about being Reaped have been moved to the back-burner.

But I feel optimistic about our chances. I haven't had to take out tesserae for a few years now since I started working in the grain factories. The work is hard and long, but I'm making a decent salary. Nellie has had to take out tesserae a few times, but she's not as bad off as so many others in our District. District 9 isn't rich by any means, but we're more fortunate than what happened to some of the other Districts after the Mockingjay's Rebellion. For the most part, we're ignored by the Capitol, and personally, I think that's better than being under constant supervision or even being one of their lapdogs like Districts 1 and 2.

We hear the usual speech about the history of Panem and the Treaties of Treason, but before too terribly long our escort comes to the stage. When she reaches the female tribute's ball, I close my eyes, praying with everything in me that Nellie isn't chosen…

"Milla Waves!" I hear a girl cry out somewhere, and when I open my eyes a small thirteen-year-old is walking to the stage in slow steps. While I'm beyond grateful that Nellie has been spared, my heart goes out for this little girl. She's far too young to die.

The girl finally makes her way up the stage, and the escort heads over to the male's ball now. Worry starts to gnaw at my stomach again, but it doesn't have long to stay. Like with the girls, the escort pulls out the first slip she touches.

"Barley Green!" she announces.

For a moment, I'm in complete shock. But Arny gives me a small push, and I remember I'm supposed to walk forward. I attempt to school my features into a blank mask, but I know my stony façade cracks when I pass by the eighteen-year-olds and hear Nellie's muffled sob. It breaks my heart to hear her like that.

Once I'm on the stage, I'm told to shake the little girl's hand. I can't help but notice how much I tower over her, and I can feel her trembling like mad when she shakes my hand. How could I ever kill someone as young and innocent as her?

I've barely made it into my room in the Justice Building when the door bursts open, and Nellie throws herself into my arms. She's openly sobbing now, and I simply rub her back. I know that any words of comfort I could attempt to offer right now would be meaningless. "Please, please, you have to come back to me," she cries against my shoulder.

"I'll try. You know I will," I murmur into her ear. "I'll do my best. You know the last thing I want to do is leave you."

"Please," she begs again, and I repeat my words to her. But inside, I'm filled with turmoil. I want to see Nellie again, more than anything. We had always planned on getting married as soon as we were both free from the Hunger Games. And I know that my determination could very possibly make me a contender.

But I'm not a killer. Even now, I know I wouldn't be able to kill that little girl, Milla, if I saw her in the arena. And besides her, there will be other young, innocent children in the Games. I couldn't kill any of them in cold blood.

The Peacekeepers come only minutes later, and they nearly have to pull Nellie off of me. "I'll be alright!" I shout after her. Maybe, if I manage to hide, I can make it…

My plans screech to a halt as my father and older brother walk in. Neither of them are crying, but it's clear from their faces that they're in distress, and I don't blame either of them. We only lost my mother to sickness two years previously. How would they be able to lose a son and brother as well?

"Barley," my brother Chris starts, but can't seem to form any other words. But I know what he's trying to say. My brother and I have always been close, and often words aren't needed. He simply hugs me, and to my slight surprise, my father joins in. I've never had a bad relationship with my father, but ever since my mother's death we've definitely drifted further apart. I don't necessarily blame him for that, but I do wish that we were closer. It's not my fault that I look so much like my mother and probably remind him of her.

I don't make any promises to them, or to Arny when he comes to visit afterwards, that I'll come back. I don't want to give them promises I might not be able to keep. And as much as I care for each of them, if I do try and win these Games, it will be Nellie's face, not theirs, that would get me through.

But I'm nowhere near as strong as the Career tributes. I haven't been trained for these Games since birth. I'm fast, yes, and a quick learner, but how much would I really be able to soak in in a few days when tributes from 1 and 2 have been working their whole lives for this opportunity? How am I supposed to beat them?

Reporters flock the train station, and at first, I do my best to answer their questions. I already know that if I'm even to have a slim chance of surviving, I'm going to need help from sponsors. But I look over at Milla, and she's clearly terrified of the reporters and cameras in her face. I see the unmistakable streams of dried tears running down her cheeks. As she tries to make her way to the train, she stumbles, and I just barely manage to reach out and catch her.

She looks up at me fearfully, seeming just as scared of me as she is of the reporters and such. I smile down at her, doing my best to seem calming. "It's alright," I say. "I won't hurt you. Do you want me to help you onto the train?"

She doesn't say anything, just stares at me like she's been petrified. I take her silence for a yes and grab her hand to help her off the platform, away from the reporters. As soon as the doors slide shut behind us, she seems to unfreeze herself. She drops my hand like it was burning her and scurries off down the hallway. Within seconds she's gone, and I find I have to hold in a laugh. The other tributes are going to have quite a job to try and catch her!

But if I'm to make it back home, poor little Milla will have to die. I know I won't be able to do it, but could I even forgive myself if she was killed in the arena and I did nothing to try and protect her?

Already, these Games are messing with my head, trying to force me to choose between my morals and my heart, which is already yearning for Nellie. I don't know how I'm going to make the decision.

But what scares me even more is the fact that I might not live long enough to make the choice for myself.

**A/N: I hope everyone liked these tributes, I know that I had a blast working with them. Keep sending me tributes of your own, we still have half the spots available, and I'm so excited to work with all the ones I've received so far. And as always, remember to review letting me know what you think of the chapters. Reviews will also transfer into sponsor points which I will explain down the line. And to the creators of these tributes, I hope I was able to meet all your expectations. Thanks for reading!**

**~TT **


	3. Reapings: Districts 4 and 8

**A/N: Hey guys, so I apologize for the delay in this chapter, but life got in the way of writing (I vacationed in Japan for a week, then immediately moved halfway across the country when I got back, and then immediately after that my mom had surgery and I've been helping with her recovery). The good news is that things have started to settle down and I should have much more time for writing in the future! Without further ado, here are the reaping's for Districts 4 and 8!**

* * *

Zale Turk Asturias, the Determined Career

District 4 Male

For once, it's quiet in the training center. There's no one to share stations with, no one to argue about which weapons they get to use, and no one get into inevitable fights. It's just me and my weapons.

Well, it's just myself and Pearlia.

It was decided a few weeks ago that Pearlia and I would be representing District 4 this year in the Hunger Games. Usually, the trials for the Games go on much longer, and we don't know who the tributes will be until just a day or two before the Reaping. But this year, it was obvious Pearlia and I would be the ones to go in. We've worked harder than anyone else, and because of that work, we're the best.

In fact, the training center wouldn't even have been open today, but Pearlia and I insisted on getting some last-minute training in before the Games. Both of us have the capability to win. Both of us have the drive to do whatever it takes to come back home.

For me, winning the Games will mean that my sisters are never hungry again. My father will no longer have to work himself half to death just to try and support us. We will never want for anything ever again.

And I know that I have what it takes. My family wouldn't have spent so much money to put me through training if I didn't. From a young age, it was clear that I was going to be one of District 4's greats. Everyone knew that I was following in the footsteps of the legendary Finnick Odair, even though no one said it out loud. It was unwise to mention the names of the rebels from the Mockingjay's Rebellion, and Finnick had been one of the key players.

In fact, it was because of Finnick Odair that our District was, I've heard, punished severely after the Mockingjay's Rebellion failed. I've watched clips of the Games from those years following the Rebellion, and it had been clear that District 4's tributes were untrained. We've managed to get back into the Capitol's good graces, but we're still watched carefully for signs of rebellion.

They'll see none of that from me. I've worked too hard to get to this point to risk ruining it now. I was made to win the Games. There's just one little problem…

Pearlia is going in with me.

I've known Pearlia for practically my whole life, though we didn't become exceptionally close until we were twelve. As much as I love my family, Pearlia is the one who understands me better than anyone else, just as I understand her. She's my very best friend. And it's because of her that I'm as good as I am. I have natural talent, yes, but Pearlia has always pushed me to do my very best. She's the catalyst for why I try so hard.

There was no question that she would be in the Games with me. She may have not had my natural talent, but she's more driven to better herself than even I am. She's the best female the District has to offer, and I'm proud of what she's accomplished. But I know that only one of us can win these Games. The Capitol will never make the mistake of allowing two Victors again. But if it came down to the two of us at the end, I don't think that I could kill her. I care about her far too much.

As I'm pondering everything, I'm going through my training methodically. I decided to work on my throwing knives today since I'm weaker with those than the other two weapons I tend to gravitate towards, but I'm far more than capable with knives, spears, or tridents. As long as I got my hands on one of them in the arena, I would be unstoppable.

"Zale!" My trainer's voice breaks me out of my thoughts just as I'm launching another knife towards the target. Even with my concentration broken, I still manage a deadly hit. I look towards him, and he stands to the side with Pearlia. Her hair is swept up into a messy ponytail, but from the dozens of little strands that fall out onto her face I guess that she was working even harder than I was and I have to suppress a grin. I'm so proud of how far she's come.

"The Reaping's in two hours, you guys go clean yourselves up," the trainer explains. "You'll want to make a good impression to the Capitol from the moment you volunteer, and looks are an easy way to do that. Never think it's too early for sponsors to start betting on you, but only if you appear confident." Pearlia and I both nod; we've heard this information countless times before. "Then get going," he sends us off before going to put away the weapons we'd been using.

Pearlia easily falls into step with me as we start to head back to our homes. "So, how do you think is going to go into the Games this year?" she teases as she brushes hair out of her face.

"Whoever it is, I hope they can represent our District well," I say, trying my best to be serious but can't stop the grin that spreads across my face just a moment or two after the words leave my mouth. "Nervous?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "Not really. We're as prepared as we can get," she explains before chewing on her lip for a moment. "Are you going to try to assume position as leader of the Careers?" she asks tentatively. I blow a quick shot of air out of my mouth. She's asked the question before, and I'm never quite sure what answer I should give her.

"Not sure yet," I murmur. I know that with my strength, I could easily solidify myself as the leader of the Career pack, but I also know that sometimes it's easier to let the typical meatheads from District 2, the ones who are all brawn and no brain, think they're in charge so it's easier to double-cross them. "I'll have to check out the competition when we watch the recap of the Reaping's tonight." I leave out the other reason that I'm reluctant to be the leader: I fear that it might put even more of a target on Pearlia's back. I wouldn't be able to hide how fiercely protective I am of her from even the densest tribute.

I can't tell her that though. I made the decision a long time ago that I'd just distract her from her training if I told her how much I care about her. She wants this just as much as I do. I refuse to be a distraction to her.

We reach the junction between our two houses, and I give her a fleeting hug. "I'll see you soon," I say into her ear.

"And may the odds be _ever _in your favor," she teases me back before releasing me and waving before she sets off for her own house. I watch her go for a moment before jogging the rest of the way to my own place.

When I open the creaking door, I'm greeted by the sight of my sisters at the table eating salted fish. It's not much, but at least they'll have an actual meal, full stomachs today. My father does his best to provide us with that, at least, on Reaping day.

"Zale, are you still going in this year?" Tetra, the oldest of my sisters, asks eagerly. Shelley and Chelsea, my other sisters, look up at me in anticipation as well.

"Yup," I smile at them. "So now your big brother has to go make himself look nice before the Reaping." I give each of them a quick kiss on the tops of their heads before I step down the hall to take a quick shower and get dressed. I'm wearing a nice blue dress shirt and black pants. Pearlia's family actually bought it for me as a present once Pearlia and I told them we'd be the tributes this year. They reiterated how important it was to look nice at the Reaping, and since my family couldn't afford nice clothes for me, they took it upon themselves to do it instead. It was just another reminder how lucky I am to have Pearlia in my life.

I run my hands through my thick, wavy blonde hair to keep it out of my blue eyes. I know that I'm considered attractive enough, especially with the muscles I've gotten from all my training, though I don't know how much I'll compare to the usually gorgeous tributes from District 1. But the shirt Pearlia's family gave me definitely makes my eyes stand out even more than they usually do, and I'll take any advantage I can get at this point.

As I'm leaving the house, I run into my father who gives me a small nod. My father has never been the most loquacious man in the world, but ever since my mother died giving birth to Shelley and Chelsea, he's been more closed off than ever. He was the only one who wasn't completely thrilled when I told my family I was chosen to represent District 4 in the Games this year. I know he doesn't want to lose me like he did my mother, and he doesn't have the mindsight of my sisters, who I don't believe have even considered the possibility that I might not come back. He knows how big of a risk that I'm taking.

But I know that I have the capability to win these Games. Haven't I been told over and over again by trainers and fellow trainees alike how good I am? I've studied past Games, learned from past Victors, and even mastered three weapons. Most tributes, even the Careers, are only competent with one! I've gone above and beyond to ensure that I will be the one coming out of these Games. So why is it, now that I'm signing in, that I suddenly feel sick in my stomach?

I head into my section, bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation. A few boys from my training center greet me and tell me how much they believe in me.

Before too long, the mayor, escort, and our long list of living Victors take the stage. We go through the Treaties of Treason quickly enough. The anticipation pumping through my veins causes me to not hear a word of any of that. It's only when the mayor pauses before reading the names of District 4's most infamous Victors that I start to really pay attention. _Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta_….

The escort walks up to the huge balls of names with the thousands on slips. Technically, since I've had to take out as much tesserae as I could, it's very likely that I won't have to volunteer at all. We may not be as rich as Districts 1 and 2, but I might very well have the most names in the ball this year from having to take out so much tesserae.

My anticipation only grows as I see the escort go over to the female's reaping ball. She swirls her hand around for a moment before pulling out a name. "Aliva Grisorio!" she calls out, and after the fifteen-year-old girl takes the stage, the escort asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer," a steady voice that I know belongs to Pearlia rings out. She takes the stage, her hair down for once, wearing a white lace dress. She looks amazing. And even though I was more than prepared for this, had celebrated with her when she was chosen as this year female tribute, I can't help the sinking feeling in my stomach as she takes the stage.

As soon as Pearlia mounts the stage, the escort goes over to the male's Reaping ball. Repeating the process she did with the females, she picks a slip and reads the male's name. "Shiloh Ibba!" And just as before, she asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer!" I hear my own voice ring out, just as I was supposed to. I've sealed my fate. Pearlia and I will be going in together. And only one of us can come out.

Pearlia Beta Poplawski, the Driven Perfectionist

District 4 Female

As I sign in to the Reaping, my sense of excitement only grows. Most people across Panem dread the Reaping's, but for me, this is the culmination of countless hours of working as hard as I can finally paying off. So many people have doubted that I would ever reach this point, but I've proven them all wrong as this year. I'm the very best female that District 4 has to offer.

Once I'm signed in and milling around the crowd, several people come up to me to wish me luck. They all know that I'll be volunteering this year. However, I quickly find my friends, with the exception of Zale. I won't get to see him until he volunteers, and even then the next time we'll be able to talk won't be until we're at the train station.

"Pearlia! Are you excited?" Dylan, my best female friend, asks as I reach her, Talissa, and Penelope. Dylan's clearly the only one in the group who's excited; Talissa was jealous that she was never quite able to catch up to me in training, and nothing really gets through Penelope's shy exterior. I'm sure she'd rather be reading than at the Reaping.

"Very!" I laugh with Dylan. "I just wish it would start already. I'm tired of waiting." As if on cue, at my words a loud bell sounds out throughout the square. It's the signal for the last of the potential tributes to sign in, and it also means the Reaping proper will begin in only 15 minutes. My time has almost come.

My friends and I remain respectfully silent during the mayor's readings. Peacekeepers have been on watch for any sign of dissent since the Mockingjay's Rebellion and anyone who's even suspected of being a rebel is quickly stamped out. I'm not like them so I play my part of an obedient Panem citizen perfectly.

I must do everything perfectly. It's the only way I can show that I'm meant to have the position I was given. It's the only way I can prove that anyone who ever doubted me was so wrong. And if _he's _here, when _he'll_ be watching, I hope my success torments his every waking moment.

Once we've read through our extensive list of Victors, the actual Reaping finally starts. This is it. From here on out, all the eyes of Panem will be trained on me, silently judging me to see what I'm made of. And I will show them that I'm everything anyone could ever want in a tribute. I will show them all that I am what a Victor is made of.

A girl names Aliva Grisorio is reaped, and I see her calmly walk the stage. While I don't know her personally, I do recognize her from the training center, which explains why she's so calm. She already knows that she will not be going into the arena. I wait with bated breath as the escort asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer," I call out. I'm calm enough, but also loud enough that everyone will be able to hear me. I walk towards the stage, keeping my pace at a brisk walk. To walk too quickly would be to betray nerves, and if I walk too slowly people might think that I'm regretting my decision. I need to appear confident, and I manage to pull it off.

I introduce myself to the escort as I turn to face my District. As if by some twisted act of fate, I almost immediately spot his face in the crowd.

Piran Velen used to be a highly sought-after trainer for the District. My parents only wanted the very best for me, and they had the money to do that. He was hired as my trainer from the time I was seven. And I was terrible at my training. I wasn't strong, I was a slow learner, and I couldn't seem to get the hang of any sort of weapon. But instead of encouraging me, Piran apparently thought I was a waste of his time and talents. He shouted cruel words at me, even hit me when he was in a particularly foul mood. He made me dread even going to training, and my performance only suffered more.

Finally, after three years of enduring his abuse, someone higher up found out about it, and he was stopped. I was put with a different trainer, one who encouraged me instead of beating me down. I began to progress a little, but it wasn't until I met Zale another two years after that that I really started to shine. He pushed me to do my very best, and I'll always be grateful to him for that. So I stare at Piran for a second before deliberately turning away. He has no part in my coming glory.

Sure enough, after the male tribute is reaped, Zale takes his place and climbs up to the stage to stand beside me. We're not supposed to face each other yet, but I can't help glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, and he gives me a subtle wink. Finally, we're asked to shake hands, and his touch is a comforting presence. There is no doubt that we're going to be a team throughout this whole process.

We'll be a team… until the end.

Neither Zale nor I are stupid. Both of us know that only one winner is going to come out of these Games. When we had pushed each other to do our very best in training, with the Hunger Games always being the ultimate goal, somehow, we never discussed what would happen if we were chosen for the same Games. Even a few weeks ago, when it _did _happen, we haven't had that conversation yet. Zale still tells me that I can win, and I remind him of the same thing. We don't mention that for one to win, the other will have to die.

I can only hope that it won't be Zale and I in the final two. I have the skills to win the Games, but so does he. And I don't think I'll be able to be the one who ends his life.

But as I'm led back into the Justice Building, I can't think about that. I can't show anyone any sort of weakness. All eyes in Panem, and most importantly, sponsors, will be on me from now on. And because I'm from District 4, I'm likely to garner early interest as a Career tribute. I need to maintain my perfection.

While I'm in the Justice Building, my friends are the first to find me. We exchange our goodbyes, but all of them fully expect that this goodbye is not forever. They know how strong I am.

My parents, too, are fully expecting me to come home alive, though they are a bit more reserved than my friends were. Unlike the other girls, my parents know Zale, and they know how determined he is to make it home. They also know that his motivation: he has younger sisters that he can't stand to see hungry. Everything he does, he does for them.

No one in my family will go hungry if I don't come home. My parents are some of the richest in the District, and in 4, that's saying something. We even have enough money to help Zale's family out from time to time. The outfit he was wearing today was a gift from my parents after we told them we'd been chosen for this year's Games. I suppose it was a thank-you for all the help he's given me over the years.

So I'm not motivated by a lack of money. That's never been the issue for me. No, what I'm motivated by is my pride, my thirst to prove myself. I don't know which one of us has more determination.

"We'll promise Zale that we won't let the little ones go hungry," my mother whispers into my ear as she's about to leave. For a moment, I'm beyond grateful. I love his sisters like they were my own. But then a horrible thought hits me: did my mother only say that so Zale would have less worry if he were to die? Did she say it to break his concentration?

No. Zale wouldn't let that get to his head. He thinks of his sisters as his responsibility. He accepts our help when we offer it to him, but never asks for it himself. He'll still want to be the one to provide for his family.

A stream of other well-wishers enter in, and I graciously accept their "good lucks" and "I know you'll do great's!" At least I've proven to myself that I'm trained enough to stay perfect even when my mind is busy processing so many emotions at the same time. That will be good practice for later. I'm highly intelligent, as is Zale, and we've already decided that we don't want to make it known just how smart we are. Intelligence is an advantage, and we'll take any that we can get.

When the hour is up, Peacekeepers lead me out onto the train platform, where I'm greeted by cameras, reporters, and Zale. He grins at me as he's led out of the Justice Building, then starts answering the nearest reporter's question. I put on my own smile and mingle with the reporters as well. All of this information will go to the Capitol tonight, and early bets will begin. I want to see my name at the top of the betting pool.

"Pearlia! Pearlia! How do you feel about your chances in the Games this year?" I turn towards the insistent reporter, keeping my face calm, cool, and collected. The worst thing for me now is to appear scared.

"I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't know I could win," I answer, being careful to leave out any mention of the training centers. Technically, they're illegal, and the Capitol didn't let us have them after the disastrous Mockingjay's Rebellion. We only just got back into their good graces a couple generations ago, and I will do nothing to tarnish my District's reputation. "I'm looking forward to the opportunity to represent District Four and show Panem that I've got what it takes to become this year's Victor." The cameras start snapping with renewed energy at my answer.

"Alright, alright, wrap it up! They're going to be late if we don't start moving soon!" the escort calls out as she descends the steps of the Justice Building and daintily steps onto the train. She motions for Zale and I to follow her.

I manage to extricate myself from the reporters and reach the train doors at the same time as Zale. "After you," he says, making a big show of stepping out of my way and gesturing towards the door. I can't help but to laugh at his antics. He always knows just what to do to make me laugh.

Once we're inside, the escort starts fussing about, babbling incessantly about how far we are behind schedule. But now that the cameras are gone, I tune her out. All I want is to talk to Zale.

"You alright?" he asks me as we walk down the halls of the train.

"Of course. This is it. This is what we've been preparing for," I remind him with a smile. _But how I wish it didn't have to be one or the other_… The unspoken words float around in my head, and I'm determined to make them stay there.

But Zale grabs my hand and squeezes it, his look so full of understanding that for a moment I'm sure he must have been able to read my mind. "Whatever happens," he says in a low voice that only I can hear, "I'm glad you're with me Lia."

Bree Craban, the Understanding Realist

District 8 Female

The world is quiet when I wake in the morning, but it's far from peaceful. Even from my bedroom, the sense of dread that rests over all of District 8 has made its way to me, making me want to burrow back into my bed and not wake until everything is over.

But I can't do that. It's Reaping Day, and for District 8, it's by far the worst day of the year.

District 8 was a major part of the Mockingjay's Rebellion. We've never been a terribly prosperous District, and when the Rebellion grew, District 8 was one of the first to fight back, one of the last to surrender. We've been steadily punished ever since.

When people try to refuse to come to the Reaping, they are dragged into the public square by the Peacekeepers and whipped within an inch of their lives. Some people have even died from it, since we don't have competent medical equipment except for select few that have money here.

All things considered, I'm one of the lucky ones. I've never had to take out tesserae like most in my District have had to do. I'm blessed to have caring parents and a lovely little sister. I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I trust more than anything in the world, including my boyfriend.

And yet, I can't shake the depression that hangs over me. It's constantly following me like a dark cloud, always waiting to take me over when I'm weakest.

I suppose that's one fortunate thing about living in District 8. We're so beat down that my depression doesn't stand out, and I'm not forced to get help for it. Despite the fact that it would cost too much, I don't necessarily trust our dingy hospital. I wouldn't even be surprised if they didn't have a psychiatrist.

Now that I'm up, I decide to just get ready for the day. Nothing will make today any better, and prolonging it might only make it worse when the Reaping finally does happen. Getting up early will give me one benefit: I'll be able to be with Remus and Samuel before the inevitable. If anyone can make me feel better, it'll be Sam.

I slip on a faded blue dress, the only one that I own, on over my head. It's slightly too small for me, but it will do. I won't be showing up in patched or frayed clothes like some of the poorer kids in the District. I may not live in the lap of luxury, but I have enough to get by.

There's a clink at my windowsill and I look over to find a shiny marble placed there. I can't help but smile at that. I've always had a gift with animals, and ever since I found a baby crow that I nursed back to health a couple years ago, I often wake to find small presents on my window. I open the small wooden box where I keep these treasures and carefully place the marble into its depths. A silver hair clip catches my eye, and I decide to add that to my brown hair, to give it a little bit of interest.

I'm as good as I'm going to get, so I finally step out of my room and into the kitchen. Neither my parents nor my sister are awake yet, so I keep as quiet as I can. They deserve to sleep a while longer.

But I know I won't be alone for long. Samuel will be over soon, and Remus probably won't be far behind him. Sure enough, I've just finished toasting a small bit of bread when there's a quiet knock on the door.

I open our door, and there stands Samuel on the threshold. "Hi, Brother," I greet him as I step aside to let him in. He's not blood related to me, but the bond I have with Samuel is stronger than what I have with my boyfriend Remus, my sister, or even my parents. The best I can do to explain it is that he's my platonic soulmate.

The only other explanation I have for while I feel so strongly about Sam is that maybe, just maybe, he houses the spirit of my older brother who died before I was born. Aaron was only a baby when he passed, and ever since I found out, there was a hole in my heart that couldn't be filled until I met Samuel. He is the older brother I never got to meet.

"I brought something for your family," he says quietly, holding out a bit of fresh cheese and a half-carton of milk. I thank him as I take the treats and carefully store them in the fridge. Sam takes care of me and my family when he can; being the mayor's adoptive son grants him certain privileges.

I toast him a piece of bread for his own, and we eat quietly, staring at the fire I had made. Words aren't always needed between Sam and I. We're quite comfortable with our silence, and we're more than capable of communicating without words anyway. He understands my depression, seeing as he suffers from the same ailment as I do, and just like me, he's happiest in these moments when it's just the two of us together, not speaking but just enjoying the moment, however brief it may be.

When my parents wake up soon after, neither of them are surprised to find Samuel in our living room. In fact, were he not here, they'd probably ask what was taking him so long. They both thank him when they find the milk and cheese in the fridge, and we decide that we're going to save that for later tonight, as a tribute to the two children who will be sentenced to die later today.

Once my parents come into the room, it breaks my moment with Samuel. I try not to be too annoyed by it, my parents are caring and loving, and I know not everyone is that lucky to have parents like that. The misery of District 8 wears down on everyone, and some parents have turned bitter against everyone, even their own children.

We talk idly about a few things while we wait for the hours to pass by, trying to take all of our minds off the Reaping. Samuel asks about how our jobs at the factory are going, and we ask him about the goings-on at the Justice Building from day-to-day. He gives short quiet answers, and never mentions the torture devices that his father is forced to oversee. Any rule-breaking, even putting just one toe out of line, is grounds for a night in the stocks, minimum, in District 8.

Another knock comes at the door a couple hours before the Reaping, and this time, it's Remus who stands there. He comes with a bunch of wildflowers in his hands. "These are for you," he grins. "Sorry it took me so long to get here, but I had trouble finding flowers as pretty as you." I roll my eyes at his compliment, but give him a brief kiss nonetheless. Remus might not understand my soul as well as Samuel does, but he does his best to make me smile, and that's more than most people do for me. I really do love him.

"Hey, Sam," he greets cautiously when he sees the other boy sitting on our floor in front of the fire. Sam raises his hand in response. Remus and Samuel aren't particularly close, and they probably wouldn't be friends in the first place if it weren't for me. I know Remus is a bit jealous of the bond I have with Samuel, despite both of us insisting that our bond is purely platonic. But over the past couple of years, their bond has grown a bit, which I appreciate.

"Sam, Remus, will we be seeing you for dinner tonight?" my mother asks as we're donning our coats, preparing to set off for the town square.

"I'll be around," Remus promises.

"I think my father wants to spend some time with our family, but I'll see if I can make an appearance," Samuel murmurs. It would make sense why his father would want to do that. This will be Samuel's last Reaping. If he makes it through today, he'll be free forever. Then, he'll only have to worry about his younger sister Isabel for a couple of years.

Samuel, Remus, my younger sister Shiree, and I head towards the square underneath a light drizzle. The cameras that have been set up around the square are all waterproof, of course, but they don't bother to shield any of the residents from the rain. It just goes to show that the Capitol cares more about its show than their actual tributes.

I manage to stay with Samuel, Remus, and Shiree as long as I can, but eventually we all have to make our way to our different sections. Remus gives me a kiss on the cheek for luck but it's my hug with Sam that lingers. Again, no words are exchanged between us. They don't need to be.

When the cameras have begun rolling, Sam's father, Mayor Livingston, stands up to deliver his yearly reminder of why the Games were started in the first place. The look is his eyes is sad, and everyone knows he doesn't believe the words he's saying about the Districts deserving this fate. He hates this as much as the rest of us. I think he's secretly glad after he reads our short list of Victors and takes his seat.

Now, our escort takes over. It's common knowledge that she absolutely loathes being stuck with us; Districts 8, 11, and 12 are considered the worst of the worst for escorts. She's thirsty to bring a District 8 tribute home, not because she actually cares about any of us, but because she thinks it will get her a promotion. The vanity of Capitolites never ceases to disgust me.

She attempts a few jokes to lighten the tense atmosphere that even she can feel, but quickly sees that this is not going to work. With a slight pout, she crosses over to the female's Reaping ball. I close my eyes, praying to high heaven that it's not me, Shiree, or Isabel….

"Bree Craban!" My eyes fly open, and for one crazy moment, I'm sure that there's been some sort of mistake. I'm back home, and I've just overslept. But no, I'm in the square, rain splattering on my face, and the people around me are creating a path so that I can walk up to the stage.

My entire body is numb as I make my way up. There are faces swimming before me, but I'm in such a state of shock that I've started to dissociate, and I can't make out any features. Only after I blink heavily a few times do I finally spot Remus and Samuel standing next to each other in the crowd. Neither of them are looking at me. They're looking at each other.

"And our male tribute is," the escort starts, grabbing a second slip. "Knox Maruca!" At least it wasn't Samuel or Remus.

"I volunteer!" I hear a shout before Knox can even make it up to the stage. No. No, no, no. Not even in my worst nightmares did I consider this happening.

That was Sam's voice. Which means I'll be going into the Hunger Games with my brother.

Samuel Livingston, the Emotional Thinker

District 8 Male

When Bree's name was called by the escort, I swear all the air was expelled from my lungs. It's worse than if I were to hear my name be called.

All my life, the only one who has ever fully understood me is Bree. There's some bond between us. It's completely unromantic, and I like the name she's given it: platonic soulmates. It's an apt name, for when I met her it was like my soul already knew her and recognized her.

She slowly gets onto the stage. She's not letting any tears fall, but her face is completely devoid of emotion. I know that means she hasn't fully comprehended the gravity of the situation.

I can't allow her to die. I know that if she dies, she'll be taking most of me with her. The world can't exist without Bree Craban. And there's only one thing I can do to make sure that she's the one coming out of that arena.

I glance over at Remus, and I see in his eyes that he's thinking the same thing. I shake my head, trying to make him understand. Bree needs him. He can't go in. He turns his head towards me, confusion written on his face. It breaks his concentration. And that brief moment is all I need.

"I volunteer!" I call out as soon as the male tribute is reaped; I don't even bother waiting for the boy to climb the stage. From near Bree, my father looks at me in shock, but I don't know why my volunteering would cause so much of a surprise. Everyone, including my family, knows just how much Bree means to me.

I refuse to allow any emotion to show on my face as I walk up and stand next to Bree. Her hands are over her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. I want to tell her that she's going to be okay, that I'm going to get her home, but I can't yet. I can't with all these cameras around. I'll have to wait until we're alone on the train.

The escort tells us to shake hands, and I give Bree an encouraging squeeze. The tears are still in her eyes, but she hasn't let them fall yet. That's good. I don't want her to be pinned down as an easy target before the Games even begin.

Though I know my way around the Justice Building, having lived right next to it all my life, Peacekeepers still find it necessary to escort me to my waiting room. We have had tributes try to run before, but they're always caught. And almost always, tributes that try to run end up as part of the initial bloodbath. I can't decide if I think that's rigged or not.

Of course, most of District 8's tributes are part of the bloodbath anyways, regardless of whether or not they try to run from their fate. It's yet another side effect of us being punished for our ancestors trying to be free of the Capitol. Their brutality towards us just proves how futile the Mockingjay's Rebellion really was.

Almost immediately, my family heads into my room. My parents throw their arms around me, my younger sister Isabel is openly crying, and my older brothers Chad and Jessie are standing there in shock. I gently pry my parents' arms off of me. I won't lie to them; they deserve to know what I'm going into the arena to do.

"When I don't come back," I begin, but Isabel cuts me off.

"But you can come back!" she nearly screams. "We'll sponsor you, the whole District will, you can learn to fight, and you're smart. You have to come back." I hold up a hand to stop her.

"I volunteered because I need to try and protect Bree, at all costs," I say as gently as possible. Isabel shakes her head, refusing to believe my words. "If you can, I want you to promise me to help Bree. She needs to come home."

Every member of my family is crying at this point, me being the only exception. It pains me to hurt them this way, but I'll do anything for Bree. And I'm not even their real son.

When I was a baby, my birth parents, whoever they were, left me on the front doorsteps of the Justice Building, where my father found me the next day. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they didn't send me to the death trap they call a Community Home, but decided to take me in instead. I've never found out who my birth parents are, and quite honestly, I don't care enough to try. These people and Bree are my family, and that's enough for me.

"Samuel," my mother starts as she wipes away her tears. "I know you want to protect Bree, but if for some reason you can't, and you outlive her… will you promise to try and come home then?" she pleads.

I hesitate. If Bree dies, I don't think there will be anything left of me to come home, but how can I inflict any more pain upon them? Slowly, I nod my head. "Yes. If that happens, I'll do my best to come home," I say.

Isabel throws her arms around me, but before I can offer any words of comfort, the Peacekeepers are here to ask my family to leave. Isabel looks like she's thinking of putting up a fight, but with one look from my father she knows better. We were all taught from a young age to never test the Peacekeepers.

As soon as my family leaves, Remus comes through the door. "Why did you do it?" he asks. "I would have gone in, I would have done it, you didn't have to—"

"No!" I yell. "She needs you more than she needs me. If one of us had to die for her to live, I would rather it be me. She's going to need you when she comes back. I'm going to do absolutely everything I can to bring her back, but after I'm gone, she's going to need you. _You_ need to help her heal, because we both know that no one comes out of those Games unscathed." This much is true. I've seen it in the eyes of every Victor, year after year, when they stay with my family during the Victory Tour. All of them have a haunted look in their eyes, as though they've never fully left the arena.

Remus opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but then pauses. He swallows, then opens his mouth again. "I will never be able to repay you enough if you can bring her home," he says, and I'm shocked to find he's near tears himself. "I'm sorry… sorry I was ever jealous of you. I wish I hadn't let that stand in the way of us being friends."

"I've always counted you as a friend, Remus," I tell him. "But we both know that Bree is more important than either of us. I'll do my part to bring her home, but you have to promise to do yours afterwards."

He nods his head. "I will," he states, and I believe him. He stands up and looks at me. "I'll miss you. You didn't deserve to go like this. And I'll make you another promise as well. We'll remember you. No matter what happens, we won't forget you, Samuel Livingston."

For whatever reason, after Remus' words I'm the closest I've come to crying all day. I would let my emotions run free, if not for the thought of the cameras that will return in full force the minute I exit this room. Still, I can't stop a single tear from sliding down my cheek. "Thank you," I whisper as I pull Remus into a short hug.

Bree's family visits too, though their visit is very short. I reiterate what I said to my family and Remus, and I promise I will do all I can to bring their daughter and sister home. Mrs. Craban had already been crying, and my words send her into near hysterics as she clutches me, thanking me over and over again. I'm almost relieved when the Peacekeepers say their time with me is up.

I'm not expecting any more visitors after them, and I'm not disappointed. I've never been a total outcast, but never terribly well liked either. Most kids are jealous that I don't have to work long hours in the factories just to barely make ends meet like they do, but I don't begrudge them. It's a hard life out here in District 8, and I was just one of the rare lucky ones. But they will go home to their families tonight, assured of being safe for one more year. I will not be.

When I'm escorted to the train station, I immediately find Bree. She had finally let the tears flow when she was away from the press, and tear stains are clear against her pale cheeks, but she's pulled her emotions together now that we're on our way.

The cameras and journalists hound us with questions, but neither of us want to answer. I take her hand in mine as we duck around the swarm, until finally we step into the train. The Peacekeepers block any reporters or cameramen from following us. It's the only time in my entire life I've been even remotely glad of their presence.

Once aboard the train, I take Bree into what looks to be a kitchen area, which is deserted. I guess our mentors and escorts have yet to appear. "Bree, I'm going to get you out of here," I promise her as soon as we sit down. Her eyes get wide.

"No! You can't sacrifice yourself to save me, I won't let you!" she nearly shouts. "I didn't want you to volunteer in the first place, it was so awful seeing you walk up those steps."

"Bree!" I say, talking over her. I take a deep breath and put my hands on her shoulders. "I promised your family and Remus that I will get you out of this arena, but you have to work with me. We will learn what we can before the Games, we'll learn how to get sponsors, but you have to be strong when I'm not there anymore. You have more to go back to then I do. I couldn't stand being back in District 8 watching those Games and knowing that I could have done something to protect you. Please, understand. You've always understood me better than anyone else ever has before. You know that if you died, you would take me right along with you. This way, at least you'll get to come back."

Tears fill her eyes again. "Don't you know that if you died, I would too?" she whispers. "You're my brother. I need you too." With that, she leaves the kitchen, dabbing at her eyes.

I sit there, so mad I could kick myself. I never imagined how she might feel if I die too. I never imagined how she would take it, but of course it would hurt her. We're basically two halves of one whole. When one half goes, the other will suffer.

I curse myself, wondering just how much pain my idiocy will put her through before this is all over.

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**A/N: Once again, I had a blast working with these tributes, and I hope you like them as well. Next chapter, it will be District 5, and whatever District gets filled next. We've got at least one tribute per district now, so I'll have the next chapter out as soon as one of those positions gets filled. I hope to hear from you in a review, and I'll see you next chapter.**

**~TT**


	4. Reapings: Districts 5 and 11

**A/N: Hey guys! Here are Districts 5 and 11, and this marks the halfway point of the Reaping's. I'll keep it short up here, because I do have a few important things to say, but that will all be down at the bottom. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Aurora Noechel, the Reserved Genius

District 5 Female

For once, I get to sleep in. Usually, I'm up before dawn, either to job-shadow the chemists or for school. But neither school nor the labs are open today.

Reaping day is an absolute nightmare for most of Panem. For me, it's just another day. I don't even really look forward to sleeping in all that much since I'd much rather be at the labs. In a white coat, eyes protected by goggles, experimenting with dangerous substances, that's where I thrive.

Of course, I haven't been able to do too much practical application yet. I don't start my job for another three months. What I've been doing recently, however, is going down to the labs to watch the other chemists and get a chance to speak to them about their work. Even though I've been doing this for a couple months now, I still learn new things every time I go down and am fascinated by every snippet of information I pick up. I can't wait to start myself.

Today, for me, is just another day on the countdown to the beginning of my adulthood, of my life. While I know there is a chance that I could be Reaped, odds are in my favor. While my family might not be as well off as the power plant owner's or mayor's family, we still manage to do quite well for ourselves. My father and mother both have good, steady jobs at one of the many power plants in District 5, meaning I've never had to worry about where my next meal will come from or even had to take out any tesserae. Compared to some of the other kids I see on the street, the ones with sunken in bellies and wide, scared eyes, I'm positively wealthy in that sense.

All that taken into consideration, my chances of being Reaped are very slim indeed. But two children from our District will go to the Capitol this year, and then to the arena, where they most likely will not come back. I feel some pity for those that die in the Games, but I don't focus on it or let it worry me. I've never been the sentimental type, and more importantly, I have my career to think about, and most anything outside of that is just a distraction.

I might think differently if I was a friend of anyone who was Reaped, or if I had a sibling with a possibility of going into the Games, but I don't. I've been too focused on academics to make too many friends, and Ciara is safe anyway. Henri, her younger brother, is my age, so this is his last year of Reaping as well as mine. And I'm an only child, so I've never had to worry about a brother or sister heading into the Games. I don't know the desperation I see on the select few tributes who take the places of their usually younger siblings. I don't know what it's like to love somebody so fiercely you'd be willing to throw your life away for them.

I'm not completely calloused though. I do feel pity for those that go into the Games, and I'd never volunteer like the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. I just don't want to waste time obsessing over them, especially because the Games never going to go away. The numerous failed rebellions have proven that. They're just part of life here in Panem, and I've never seen the point in becoming so upset about something that is inevitable. For me, it's more important to enjoy the time that I do have, and focus on things that make me happy, that give my life fulfillment. I thoroughly enjoy where life has taken me so far.

I make my way out of my bedroom, and find my parents discussing upcoming changes at their power plant. They are a little more worried about Reaping days, but after today, I'll be safe from them forever. And even still, they know my odds are better than most.

I sit down with them at the breakfast table and eat my eggs and toast. "Aurora, what are your plans between now and the Reaping?" my father asks. I shrug my shoulders.

"Ciara and Henri said they might come over," I answer after I swallow. "But until then I'll probably pass the time reading the book I got from Honoria over at the labs."

"Would this book be for pleasure, or is it instructional?" my mother asks with her eyebrows raised. I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. If my mother had it her way, I would spend my time researching and doing absolutely nothing else. I know why she pushes me so hard; she just wants me to have the best, but as my father says, I'm in the labs and learning often enough as it is. Having some time for myself and for my friends is healthy.

"It's a study on how to keep the harmful effects of gases from seeping out into the atmosphere if they're a viable power source," I explain. "Honoria's husband spent most of his life testing it and this book is the product of his findings. She said that I should study up on it, that it would be good knowledge for when I start my job."

"Good," my mother nods. "The more prepared you are the better. That will help you along, make you stand out. Hard work always yields favorable results."

I hum a response before curling up with my book on our couch. Despite the rather dry subject matter, it's engaging to me, and I don't notice Henri and Ciara walking in until Henri lowers the book away from my face.

"Just because it's our last year doesn't mean you can actually skip out on the Reaping," he teases. I let out a small chuckle as I carefully place a bookmark between the pages.

"You know me, if it has pages, I'll be reading it," I murmur as I glance up at the time. The Reaping is only an hour away. Luckily, I had already dressed in my Reaping clothes, so I didn't have to waste time getting ready. Grabbing a light jacket, I head out the door with Ciara and Henri.

We make our way past the numerous power plants on our way to the Town Square. Even though they're closed for the day, dark smoke still emanates from the coal-powered plants, while the nuclear ones are carefully guarded by Peacekeepers wearing protective suits. My parents work at one of the nuclear ones, which pays much better than the coal-powered ones. Only the foreman's, like Henri and Ciara's father, make good money there.

Of course, the coal gives us a curious affinity with District 12, which provides the coal needed to run those plants. Everyone knows it, but no one dares to say it out loud. No one wants to be affiliated with District 12.

District 5 is, by all accounts, one of the better Districts to live in. We're vital to Panem, particularly the Capitol, so the District is large enough, but we're not monitored too terribly closely. During the brief glimpses of some of the other Districts I've seen during Reaping's and Victory Tours, the instruments of torture are on full display. Districts 7, 8, 11, and 12 in particular don't even bother trying to conceal the stocks, whipping posts, and gallows they have prominently featured in their squares. District 4, I've heard, was punished too thanks to Finnick Odair, but after a few generations managed to get back into the Capitol's good graces. The other Districts haven't quite managed that yet, probably because they were never the Capitol's favorites anyway.

So, all in all, I'm very grateful to live in District 5. Living in 1, 2, or 4 would have probably seen me forced to spend my days in a training facility instead of nurturing my intellect, and in a lower District I would never have had the opportunity for a good life that I've had here.

We reach the square before too long where Ciara leaves Henri and I as we sign in. Of course, soon after Henri and I are separated as well. I'm ushered off into the 18-year-old girl's section, where I'm mostly ignored as people huddle around in groups of twos and threes. While most would be bothered by the solitude, I'm unperturbed by it. I wish that I had thought to bring my book along with me to pass the time, but that probably wouldn't have been allowed.

I'm just started to get really bored when the Mayor finally stands up and begins his speech. The cameras are trained on him, since I know they're broadcast live to the Capitol, though I wonder how much of the speech is really shown to Capitol citizens. If I were to guess, I would say just enough to let them know that our Reaping's have begun, but the screens probably won't cut back to us until the actual names are drawn. They never show the speeches during the recap of the Reaping's anyway, and I'm sure the only thing that changes from District to District are the list of the previous Victors.

When the Mayor gets to that particular part of his speech, I take a moment to study our Victors. While we don't have a plethora of them, we do have more than some of the outlying Districts. Like District 3, most of our Victors won by using their intelligence as their greatest weapon. Even a sword is no match for a well-sharpened mind.

After the Mayor concludes his speech, our escort finally stands up. She attempts a few jokes to lighten the mood, and while we aren't the melancholiest District, her jokes aren't particularly the strongest. There a few weak chuckles scattered throughout the crowd, but nothing stronger than that. Pouting, she makes her way to the female's batch of names and selects the first slip her hand comes into contact with.

"Aurora Noechel!" she calls out.

I freeze. That's _my_ name. But… I can't go into the Hunger Games! I have my whole life ahead of me, I've never taken out tesserae, I should have been fine! I only have 7 slips out of thousands! If the odds were ever in anyone's favor, it should have been me! But apparently the odds didn't matter at all.

I notice that the other girls have parted around me, and no doubt there is a camera focused on me this very second. It's the thought of the camera that moves my legs forward. I do not want to appear weak to the Capitol, and I certainly will not cry. Forcing a neutral expression on my face, I make my way forward and join our escort up on stage.

I gaze out at my District without really seeing anyone. I don't pick out Henri's, Ciara's, or even my parents faces in the crowd. This almost feels like I'm outside my body, watching everything happen and yet powerless to actually stop it.

As the escort crosses over to pick the male tribute, I think about the previous winners from District 5. They had to rely on their intellect to get them through the Games. I can do that. I've done my very best, throughout my life, to hone my brain and rise to the top of my class. And to get the job that I was offered, I had to be smart. If those previous Victors were able to win the Games, why shouldn't I be able to?

And I'm not naïve; I know perfectly well that to get home I will have to kill. I can't say I've ever been in a position where I've been required to do that before, but if I can just focus on the fact that I simply do not want to die, that should be enough. I can separate the action from my mind.

I don't hear the male tribute's name, and only when he's standing next to me do I get a sense of vague recognition. I know his face from around school and town, but I don't know him personally. I don't want to. The less I know about my fellow tributes, the better. They will all be gone soon enough.

Because I am not dying in these Games. I refuse to.

Jaxs Williams, the Quiet Defendant

District 5 Male

Aurora Noechel climbs onto the stage with an impassive, almost bored look on her face. She doesn't appear to be concentrating on what's actually happening. At the very least, she doesn't look scared, so that's a plus.

She doesn't strike me as someone who will die in the bloodbath. Weaker looking tributes than her have made it far. As long as she keeps her wits about her, she might stand a chance.

I, of course, am looking at all of this from a disconnected eye. I'm not seeing Aurora as a person, just another player in the Games. I'm looking at her with the critical lens of my father, who has introduced me to Victors before, and is always going on about how it's past time for our District to have another. It's good for morale, and beyond that, it's good for keeping the Capitol happy with us.

My father is more concerned with what the Capitol thinks about us than most of the rest of the people in this District, but that's because he works directly for the Capitol. While he's not the Mayor (yet), he is involved in the limited government in District 5, and is in charge of the housing for the Peacekeepers. It's an important job, and as such he's required to see the world with a different view than most. And as his son, I've been expected to take the same view.

So, as I'm looking at our female tribute with my father's eye, I barely notice the escort grabbing the male tribute's name until she has reached the microphone in the center of the stage once more. "Jaxs Williams!" she cries out.

For a moment, I don't comprehend what's going on. Then the revelation hits me, and for once I'm taken aback. But I must not let it show. All of Panem will be watching me. I've been controlling my emotions for years. It's no big deal to do the same thing now.

I walk up to the stage, and as I see my face on the screens, I have maintained a similar expression as Aurora: indifferent and most definitely not scared. Appearing frightened is almost an immediate death sentence, because the Careers will single the frightened ones out as easy pickings at the bloodbath, and no one in the Capitol will sponsor a tribute who acts scared. The Capitol prefers the predators, not the prey.

The escort asks Aurora and I to shake hands, and as we do so, and I can tell we're both immediately sizing each other up, trying to determine what kind of competitor the other is going to be. I'm poor at reading other people's emotions, but it doesn't seem as though Aurora has already given up. She's going to actually try.

From there, I'm escorted into the Justice Building. I'm familiar with the building, but the walls the Peacekeepers are leading me down are unfamiliar. If the Peacekeepers recognize me, they don't give any indication. I'm always around when the new Peacekeepers come in to meet with my father, but I don't really know any of them personally.

The Victors, on the other hand, I know a little better. Whenever the Victory Tour comes to District 5, my father is always invited to the celebration, and my mother and I come along as well. As such, I've spoken a bit to past Victors before, but I wouldn't really say I'm friends with any of them. I only have one real friend, and I imagine he'll visit me shortly. But first, I have to be prepared for the onslaught of my parents.

I can't imagine they'll be exactly happy that I was Reaped, but they'll never let themselves get overly emotional about it either. My mother probably won't care one way or the other if I die. My father, on the other hand, will want me to make it out alive, but only to advance his political career. He has his ambitions on becoming the Mayor of District 5, and having a Victor as a son would do well to boost his popularity in the Capitol. Having a son die in the Games, particularly if the death is something undignified, would be the utmost height of shame as far as he would be concerned.

Sure enough, when they enter my room a few moments later, there is no weeping, and neither of them make any attempt to hug me. They simply take their seats and stare at me for a moment.

"You did well at the Reaping," my father says finally. "You looked like you were confident and strong. That will impress early sponsors, especially since you don't come from a Career District. Your confidence will get the sponsors talking about you. Remember to keep that confidence throughout the opening days leading up to going in the arena."

"I know, Father. I will," I answer back, keeping my voice as controlled as my face. I've perfected controlling my emotions over the years. Nothing gets past my inexpressive face or voice.

"And… do your best to try to win," he says haltingly. For a moment, I think I might be surprised. Is he actually going to show real emotion? "Your winning would not only be good for the District, but for our family's aspirations. Our fortunes will be made if you can come back. So, make sure to do all you can to win."

Of course. Just as I predicted, he's more concerned about his career than my life. It would be disappointing if I weren't so used to it. My mother, next to him, says nothing. If anything, she looks bored by the whole thing. This, too, is unsurprising to me. She's been apathetic towards me my whole life, and only really bothers to pretend to care if we're at an event, to keep up the appearances that we're a perfect family to bolster my father's reputation.

"I'll do my best to win," I mutter to pacify them. I'm not lying, but I don't care about winning just to help my father. I plan on winning because I simply don't want to die.

"Well… good," my father says, though he looks uncomfortable. I can't tell what he's thinking. He opens his mouth, closes it for a moment, then opens it again. "Then I hope to see you when you get back home." He blinks a couple times, then turns and leaves the room with my mother in tow. It was odd behavior, to be sure, but I don't think too much on it. I don't want to spend too much energy trying to read his emotions.

Soon after my parents leave, my best friend Xander walks into the room, looking more distressed about my fate than either of my parents combined. How I became friends with Xander is something of a mystery to me; we're nothing alike. He's always been in tune with and very free with his emotions, while it takes hard effort to coax so much as a grin out of me. When I got a job at one of the power plants, just for something to do, I met him on my first day, and my standoffishness didn't put him off like it did most people.

I guess I was drawn to Xander because he was so unlike anyone I'd ever known. Instead of being stiff and uptight, he was fun and carefree. It was nice to have someone who was so different than me, and nowadays, if I show any emotion at all, Xander is the person I show it to.

"You… think you'll be okay?" Xander asks hesitantly, taking a seat next to me. I shrug.

"Don't know yet," I answer honestly. "I'm not going to go into the arena having already given up, but everyone knows that I haven't been training my whole life for this like the tributes from One, Two, and Four."

"Yeah, but you have some strengths," Xander reminds me. "You've been fed your whole life, that right there is a huge advantage. And you've had to work out to keep up appearances. I know it's probably nothing like the Career tributes, but it's still better than nothing. As long as you manage to outthink the others, you should have a pretty good shot at survival."

I nod slowly. "I'm good with traps too," I muse aloud. At the power plant, I often make traps to catch the mice that sometimes get into the base. The traps are of my own design, so making traps to acquire food or to ensnare other tributes shouldn't be too much of a problem if I learn a bit at the Training Center. "And I'm decent with throwing a knife," I add. This has come from taking knives and forks into my backyard and throwing them at trees. As a kid, when my father's political career was just starting to take off, I didn't know how to control my emotions as well back then. I'd often take out what I was holding back on throwing the cutlery. Even to this day, it's a form of stress relief for me.

"All of that will give you a pretty strong advantage," Xander says. "Teaming up with another tribute or two might not hurt either." I shrug again at that statement. It's true that teaming up with another might help cover my weaknesses, but I'm not much for working with others. Even with my work at the power plant, I tend to work best if left to my own devices. I'm not even sure I could endear myself enough to other to make them want to work with me.

"The girl," I say haltingly. "Do you know anything about her?" Xander knows almost everyone, so this is a good idea to get an early read on her, since I don't trust myself to do it properly.

"I know her face from around school, but we're not friends or anything," he says. "But I heard her friends talking when I was waiting to see you. I didn't hear much, but apparently, they reckon she's super smart. She didn't look scared when she was Reaped either." I nod my head. His words confirm my own suspicions; Aurora Noechel is definitely not to be counted out.

Afterwards, the Peacekeepers come to escort Xander out and to take me to the train station. My features stay neutral, as I know there will be more cameras there, and Capitolites will be looking for any weakness. I will betray nothing.

Aurora seems to be taking the same approach as me. She looks indifferent, and there has been no sign that she was crying while the cameras were gone. She shrugs off the reporters and boards the train. I am only a few seconds behind her. The train doors seal shut, and for a moment, we're alone.

"Well, I guess I'll see you during the recap the Reaping's," she mutters before heading off down the train somewhere. During the brief moment she was talking to me, even I can see that I was right about her. Aurora doesn't intend to die.

But neither do I. And if only one tribute can come out of the arena, I am determined that it will be me.

Rye King, the Wrathful Mute

District 11 Male

I'm awake before the sun is. I've wrapped filthy Ace bandages around my knuckles, and I'm doing quick jabs at an old mattress propped up against the wall. _Right jab, left uppercut, right knee._ I hit the mattress as best as I'm able. It's not an actual punching bag, which I know would be ten times more helpful, but it's all I've got.

Frankly, I'm impressed with my ingenuity of using a mattress to help practice my punches and kicks. It has enough give that I'm able to practice without getting hurt, and it's also firm enough that it will actually help strengthen me. And soon, I'm going to need all the strength I can muster.

Today is the day of the Reaping. And this year, I'm going to be going into the Hunger Games.

While not exactly an ideal situation, I'm convinced that this is the only way to get my family off the streets. My mother and sisters deserve a better life than the one they've been given. If winning the Games is the only way to give them that life, then I won't hesitate to do that for them.

As such, I've been training for the Games for the better part of a couple years now. When I first got the idea in my head that I was going to go in, I knew then that I wasn't strong enough. So, I did everything I could to increase my strength and stamina, both physically and mentally. Though I've never really had enough to eat, what nutrients I do possess have all been turned into solid muscle. My six-foot, four-inch build hadn't hurt either. I'm as prepared as one of the Career tributes now.

I finish my workout just as the sun begins to rise over District 11. The mockingjays are singing in the fields, which are no doubt already teeming with workers. I'd be among them were I not of Reaping age.

I glance at the tent my parents and sister are sleeping in. It's not much, just a few blankets propped up on sticks, but it mostly keeps the elements away. They don't know that I'll be entering the Games. I know they would try to talk me out of it. But all my life, I've seen my mother and sisters as my responsibility. I would do anything to protect them, and have already begun. People don't mess with us out on the streets anymore. Whenever I would see one of my sisters being harassed, I never hesitated to beat the offender. As long as we don't do it in too public a place, the Peacekeepers usually don't bother to get involved.

My mother is the first one awake and out of the tent. "Good morning, Rye," she smiles at me. I nod my head as a return. I've never been able to speak, but so far this hasn't been much of a problem. My family knows me well enough to understand whatever I'm trying to communicate. If I absolutely need to get the exact words I want across, I use a stick of charcoal to write on whatever surface is available. I have one such stick in my pocket right now, so that I'll be able to tell the escort my name when I volunteer.

My mother begins to make a fire so she can warm the bread we have from our tesserae rations. I keep a close eye on the blaze. If the Peacekeepers see smoke, they won't hesitate to come running over. The key to living on the streets is that as long as you stay away from the Peacekeepers, you can make it.

Of course, the Peacekeepers are always on the lookout for dissenters. Apparently, during the Mockingjay's Rebellion, our District was one of the first to begin rebelling, all the way back during the 74th Hunger Games, not after like most of the other Districts who were involved early on. Because of this distinction, we were punished accordingly.

Of course, this is only the information I've gleaned from listening to the Mayor's speech during the Reaping's every year. In District 11, it's quite common not to trust information fed to us by the Capitol. But what do I know? I wasn't around 60-some odd years ago. I don't know what actually happened. All that matters to me is the outcome, and whatever it was, it's caused our District to be under heavy control of the Peacekeepers.

The smoky smell of our fire wakes my two younger sisters, Orchard and Wheatly. They quickly help me douse the fire once the flames start sending smoke into the air while our mother disables the makeshift tent. My family will move to another location tonight. It's not safe to stay in one place for too long.

As we eat our breakfast and make our way towards the town square, I can't help but be a little worried about what will happen when I'm gone. The girls are left alone because of my presence. Will others think to mess with them when I'm away?

I can only hope my performance in the Games will detract anyone who wants to take advantage of my absence. I want to make it clear to the audience very early on that I am a contender and am doing my best to become the winner. If others think I have a good shot of coming home, they might leave my family alone for fear of what I could do to them when I come back.

Because when I return, I have no doubts that I will have killed at that point.

It's strange, how blasé my attitude is about the fact that to survive in the Games, I'll have to kill children. It doesn't really affect me. For me, it's just another task that I have to do in order to ensure my own survival. Even here, I've proven that I have no qualms about killing. Once, a man was trying to tear off Orchard's clothes. I beat him within an inch of his life and would have gone further had I not heard the Peacekeepers come running.

My sisters and mother mean everything to me. They're the only things I care about. Winning the Games is a very small price for me to pay to ensure they get off the streets and never have to worry about where their next meal is coming from ever again.

The square is, as always, far too crowded for my tastes. Those who are too old for the Games, or too young, are out in the fields. I think ours might be the only District where attendance at the Reaping isn't mandatory, but I can't be one hundred percent certain about that, of course. Information about the other Districts is kept strictly controlled here. Only the Victors and some of the Peacekeepers will ever know anything other than District 11.

Orchard, Wheatly, and I sign into the Reaping, while our mother tries to find a spot in the crowd. I keep an eye on her, making sure she doesn't get too close to any of the many Peacekeepers that are stationed at frequent intervals around the square. While I've kept my nose clean with the Peacekeepers so far, that's only because they haven't directly harassed one of the girls. If they had, I wouldn't have hesitated to get into a tussle with them.

The blistering sun is beating down on all of us when it's officially time for the Reaping's to start. While a tent has been erected over the front stage, the rest of us are left to bake under the sun's rays. In a way, I envy the workers out in the field. While they're no more protected from the sun than we are, at least they don't also have to deal with the added annoyance of body heat from the thousands of us packed into the square.

The Mayor goes through his usual lists of readings, from the history of Panem, to the Treaties of Treason, and finally, to the list of previous Victors. Our District doesn't boast many, but after this year, my name will be added to the roster. Then, I'll be required to make a yearly appearance by sitting on that stage with the rest of them, but after that I suspect my duties to the Capitol will be over. I don't think they'll want to send me as a mentor, given the fact that I'm a mute.

Eventually, the escort takes the place of the Mayor. Our escort isn't as upbeat as some of the others, probably due to being stuck with us. The only place worse to be associated with other than District 11 is District 12.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she announced with a brave attempt at happiness. "Let's get started, shall we?" She crosses over to the female's Reaping ball, and I just hope it isn't one of my sisters. "Thyme Sinclair!" she calls out.

Thyme, a wisp of a thirteen-year-old girl, climbs onto the stage, quaking in fear. This will be my competition, at least from the District. She, at least, will be an easy target to take out. It's one less stumbling block on my road to victory.

The escort asks for volunteers, but I doubt she'll get any. District 11 is not known for their volunteers. I'm an anomaly in that regard.

"I volunteer!" I hear a confident voice shout out. Thyme practically races off the stage, and an eighteen-year-old girl takes her place. She introduces herself as Scythe Johnsyn, and the escort is quick to make note of her last name.

"Oh! Johnsyn as in Gena Johnsyn?" the escort asks, referring to one of the women sitting on stage, in the Victor's seats. The woman she indicates is smiling widely. "I take it she's your mother?" Scythe nods her head once in assent. "Well, I imagine she'll be so very proud of you for wanting to follow in her footsteps."

I scowl to myself. A Victor's daughter was not in my plans to have to face from my District. No doubt she'll prove a much more formidable opponent. But I have to press on. I won't let anything detract me from my goal.

After she's done fawning over Scythe, the escort gets on with her job and walks over to the male's Reaping bowl. Her hand digs around for a second before she pulls out a name. Theoretically, it could very well be mine. I've had to take out tesserae for years, and my name is entered thirty-five times.

"Thatch Robinson!" she calls out instead, and a weedy sixteen-year-old takes the stage. I know he doesn't have any hope of being miraculously saved like Thyme. Two volunteers for the District is unheard of. I don't think it's ever happened before.

But with the escort calls out for volunteers, I raise my hand. Though I can't shout out like Scythe did, my height makes it easy to spot me. The crowd parts way for me, and I make my way up to the stage. It's silent except for the gasps I know belong to my sisters.

"How exciting!" the escort chirps. "Two volunteers! Lucky, lucky District 11! And what's your name?"

I don't answer, because I can't. Instead, I take out the piece of charcoal I had taken earlier that day and print my name on the stage. "Rye King?" the escort reads aloud, and I nod. After today, no one will ever forget that name.

Scythe Johnsyn, the Focused Provider

District 11 Female

Walking to the Reaping with my siblings has presented a new kind of torture for me. Reaping days have never been what I would classify as fun, but at least it was time away from our mother. But this year, I'm holding a deadly secret.

Before I truly understood the brutality of the Hunger Games, I used to look forward to them. It wasn't because I ever enjoyed watching them, but for the first few years of my life, it would mean a few weeks without my mother. She was a Victor of the Hunger Games, and she would go to the Capitol every year as the mentor for the girl District 11 would send. So back home, it would just be my father, my siblings, and I. We didn't have to deal with our mother espousing her love for the Games. We were just a normal family.

But then my mother brought a tribute back home. The girl was a younger, fresher face than my mother, so the Capitol decided to use her for District 11's female mentor. Now, my mother stays home with us during the Games, and my father is long since dead. The Games are now my own personal hell.

Of course, they're about to become much worse for me. My mother is deranged, and she only lives now for the thrill of the Games year after year. She wants to relive her own glory after winning. As such, I am expected to go into the Games this year and bring home the laurels.

I've been trained my whole life, of course. I'm as strong as a Career. But there's one important distinction between me and the Careers: I absolutely hate even the idea of the Games. If it was up to me, I'd have nothing to do with them.

But that's not an option for me. As the years grow on, my mother's mental state has only deteriorated. Last year, after I sat by, she told me that if I didn't volunteer when I turned eighteen, she would not only kill me, but my siblings as well. I might have been tempted to fight her if it were just me she threatened, but I couldn't let her go after my siblings.

And so here I am, standing under the beating sun, waiting for the Mayor to finish his speeches so that I can just get it over with. I have no doubt that once I say my last name, the escort will ask if I'm related to Gena Johnsyn. That's what my mother wants. She wants the attention on her, and if I win, she'll soak up as much of the spotlight as she can.

I wonder if she was always like this. I've been forced to study the Games for years, and I've met other Victors on the Victory Tours. Sometimes they are as bloodthirsty as they appeared on screen. But most of the time, especially if the tribute is from a non-Career District, they mostly just appear haunted. I wonder if my mother went mad after her Games, and the madness just presented itself as narcissism and bloodthirst.

Finally, the list of Victors is read, and the escort goes over to the Reaping ball. I wouldn't be surprised if my name was actually called. I only have the bare minimum of entries, but children of Victors are often sent into the Games.

That's another reason I have to volunteer. If I'm not Reaped, it's very possible that the Capitol will force my brother to go into the Games, or my sister when she's old enough. I refuse to let that happen. If I go and win, perhaps that will keep them safe.

The escort pulls out a slip of paper and I take a deep breath to steel myself. I can't look back. I won't let my mother hurt my siblings.

"Thyme Sinclair!" she calls out. A scrawny thirteen-year-old eventually makes her way up to the stage, and I can see that she's fighting hard to hold back tears. Though my own sister, Lyra, is younger, this girl reminds me of her. I'm glad, at least, that this small girl won't have to go into the arena this year.

When the escort asks for volunteers, I immediately step forward. "I volunteer," I say in what I can only hope is perceived as a strong voice. Thyme practically runs off the stage, and I take her place. I give one glance towards my mother. She'd smiling smugly. That's a good sign. I've done what she wants so far. That will hopefully save my siblings from a beating tonight after I leave.

The escort asks my name. "Scythe Johnsyn," I answer, doing my best not to roll my eyes. If my last name wasn't enough of a giveaway, my first name confirms me as Gena Johnsyn's daughter. The scythe was her weapon of choice during the Games, and she's still associated with the weapon.

My suspicion is confirmed just a moment later. "Oh! Johnsyn as in Gena Johnsyn? I take it she's your mother?" I simply nod. I know the cameras are on my mother without having to look up at the monitors. Let her have her moment. Anything to keep my siblings safe while I'm not here to protect them.

The escort goes on for a while about what an honor it is for me to be able to follow in my mother's footsteps. I can tell that she's excited about having me as a tribute. I'll bet she's hoping that if I come home, she'll be promoted to a better District. The Capitol doesn't look at tributes as real people. Even once a Victor is crowned, the Victor is never treated as a person. They become celebrities, and the really popular ones are practically deified.

Eventually, the escort has to continue with the Reaping. There's still another tribute to pick. I'm praying with everything in my that it's not my brother Edison. I wouldn't put it past the Capitol to try and pit siblings against each other.

"Thatch Robinson!" I breathe out a sigh of relief. Edison is safe. Hopefully, my victory can make him safe forever.

The sixteen-year-old walks to stand next to me, and I glance at him to try and size up my competition. He looks like he's never had enough to eat in his life. Almost certainly, he'll be picked off at the bloodbath.

I'm so focused on this tribute that I become confused when he starts to leave the stage. Is he trying to make a run for it? No, there's another boy who's walking up instead, though I didn't hear anyone call out when the escort asked for volunteers.

But sure enough, this boy must be a volunteer. He's now standing next to me, but he's not saying a word. And when the escort asks for him name, he kneels down to write in on the ground instead of saying it. I can't tell if he's going for the strong, silent type or if he actually is unable to talk.

His name is apparently Rye, and he's much different from the other boy. Rye is tall, strong, and whether refusing to talk is an act or not, it's come off as intimidating. He's going to be a much, much harder opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in the Career pack just based on his physique alone.

I shake hands with Rye and then I'm escorted to the Justice Building. I'm hoping that my mother will be too involved with the cameras to come with my siblings, and sure enough, my brother and sister come in on their own.

Lyra has tears in her eyes and she immediately scrambles onto my lap. "Scythe, why do you have to go?" she whimpers. I brush her hair with my hand. I'd made the decision not to tell either of them of my plans to volunteer long ago. The less they knew, the better.

"This is the only way to keep you—both of you—safe from the Capitol," I murmur. "And once I win, I'll take you to my house in Victor's Village and you'll be safe from her. She won't ever hit you again." That's a promise I'm determined to keep. While I do my best to take most of the beatings, I haven't been able to take all of them. Bruises cover my siblings just as they do me.

Edison is standing there, as though he doesn't know what to feel. It pains me to see him like that. His defense mechanism from our mother is by hiding inside himself. He won't even let me in anymore. "Edison?" I say. He looks up for a moment, but can't seem to meet my eyes. "It'll be okay. I'll come back, and she won't hurt you anymore."

He's still for a moment, then runs into my arms. I'm shocked to see tears in his eyes, but I put my free arm around him. I hold both of them close, desperate to keep them from anything that might hurt them.

Too soon, the Peacekeepers come to escort them out. They're immediately replaced by my best friend, Leyna. My heart gives a pang that I don't understand when I see her. She puts her arms around me as well, but she's not as emotional. Unlike my siblings, Leyna knew that I planned to volunteer.

"You sure you'll be okay?" she asks. I nod.

"I've been trained my whole life, remember," I say ruefully. "And this past year I've done all that I can. I'm as prepared as I can be. And I'm not fighting for glory like all the other Careers. I'm fighting to keep Lyra and Edison safe. Speaking of which, do you know why the boy volunteered?"

Leyna shakes her head. "I listened outside to try and figure it out, but it didn't seem like his family knew he was going to volunteer. They were all crying." I frown, but not at Leyna. My tribute partner is just a mystery that I'll have to figure out to win.

Leyna's taken away from me, and my heart gives another pang. But I have to keep my emotions in check, because my mother comes in afterwards. "You've done well so far, now your job is to win," she says without any preamble. I nod, but apparently that's not a good enough response for her. She takes my jaw in her grip, her nails digging into my skin.

"If you don't meet my expectations, I'll take it out on them," she threatens. "Understand?" I nod again, and she releases me and leave the room without another word.

That is the reason I have to come back. If she wants to turn me into a killer, fine. Because when I come back, if she ever tries to lay a hand on Edison or Lyra ever again, I'll show her just how much of a killer I've become.

* * *

**A/N: And there we go. As always, I had a ton of fun working with all these tributes. Next time will be Districts 2 and 10. But before, I have a couple important things I want to say for the future of this story. When I did SYOT stories before, it was really easy for me to pick my top 8 and winner. This time, I'm really struggling. This is a good thing, since you're all providing me with tributes that I genuinely love. But because of this, the popularity poll that I will be putting out after all the Reaping's are done is going to be hugely important. If you want your favorites to get farther in the Games, make sure to vote in that poll. My last announcement ties in with this point, but it centers around the bloodbath. I've gotten exactly one tribute that is specifically made for the bloodbath. Because of this, I'll be lifting my rule on two tributes per person. I'll allow people to submit a third, but one of them has to be a bloodbath character. If I don't get bloodbaths, I will have to make some hard decisions about who to kill off early on. But that's all from me, so I hope you like the chapter and I'd love to hear from you in a review!**

**~TT**


	5. Reapings: Districts 2 and 10

**A/N: Hey there! My original plan was to get this out over the weekend, but my muse decided to take a break and it's pointless to write without her. Luckily, she came back and let me finish the chapter. So, I hope you like it!**

* * *

Nero Casteran, the Honorable Killer

District 2 Male

"Keep going! Don't slow down, not now," I encourage the two fourteen-year-olds with training swords in their hands. They're panting, but I won't let up on pushing them. They've come to me to help them when the academies won't, and they've trusted me to make them strong.

It's a responsibility that I take very seriously. I feel enormously protective of every kid that comes to me and my friends to help them train for the Hunger Games. These are the kids that the academies have given up on, have said aren't good enough, or have refused to acknowledge their talent. Before, they wouldn't have had anywhere to go. Now, I've given all of these kids a second chance.

With tremendous effort, one of the boys, Sting (he hasn't told us his real name, but I don't mind), has overpowered his opponent Lector. Lector has been disarmed and is now raising his hands in surrender, though his face is sour. Both boys are breathing heavily, their faces red with effort.

"Well done," I praise as Sting lowers his weapon. "Both of you fought bravely, down to the last breath. Whether you won or lost, fighting that way is honorable and you should be proud of yourselves." The other boys are all looking to me, drinking in my every word. "That's all for the matches today. Go get ready for the Reaping." They scatter, though some give Beck, Dash, and I salutes before they leave. When most of them are gone, Beck begins to gather our training swords together.

"Not a bad turnout today, eh?" he grins. Dash and I nod in affirmation. Ever since we started this training academy of our own 2 years ago, we've grown in popularity. We have over 20 regular attendees now.

The academy we've built, the Slummy, has made a leader out of me. Before, I had been trained in our District's training centers just like most every other kid in District 2. Training for the Hunger Games has been our way of life since the Games begun. We've always been the Capitol's favorites, both before and after the Mockingjay's Rebellion. The number of Victors from our District is far more than any other District in Panem. And even though it's still technically against the rules of the Games to be trained beforehand, the Capitol turns a blind eye to our training centers… mostly.

Someone said something to the Peacekeepers about the training centers, and, technically, they had to look into it. The Peacekeepers didn't actually do anything about them, of course, but they had to appear as though they were making us follow the rules. The training centers, however, became paranoid. They didn't know who had run their mouth. So, they had to pick a scapegoat….

"Hey, Nero!" Dash calls, breaking me out of my brooding thoughts. I turn towards him, tossing him a couple of the practice swords so he and Beck can keep them in their home. "We'll catch up with you at the Reaping, okay? Beck and I still have to get ready, and Beck needs a lot of work to do to fix up his ugly mug." Beck smacks Dash across the arm, but this is normal behavior for the two. They're twins, and they, like most siblings, enjoy ribbing each other from time to time.

I raise my hand in goodbye to them before I head to my own place. I may not be related to them, but Dash and Beck are more my family than my own sister is. They stood by me through all the trials I'd been through, while Alena was perfectly content to turn her back on me.

Luckily, when I walk into my house, Alena is nowhere to be seen. No doubt she's still at the "official" training centers, trying to get some last-minute training in. She never tells me what's going on inside them, and I'm not allowed to enter to find out myself, but I know that she's one of the contenders to enter the Games this year. However, I won't know who the academies have chosen until the Reaping today.

When I walk into my bedroom to get ready, I can see the training centers out of my window, and a pulse of anger surges through me, though not for the same reasons I was originally angry at them. When they had first decided I was to be their scapegoat and they kicked me out, I was furious. I knew that I had had nothing to do with the tipoff about the training centers, so why was I being punished for it? But looking back, it was a good thing that I was kicked out. If I hadn't been, I never would have founded the Slummy, and I never would have matured the way I have. In fact, I probably would have turned out just as ruthless as Alena. Now, I have my own moral code that I never stray from. I won't run away from a fight, but I won't go after someone who's already down. I find no honor in that, no joy.

Beck and Dash, luckily, stood by me. They knew that I wasn't the person to go to the Peacekeepers, so they left the training centers in a show of solidarity. I don't remember which one of us came up with the idea to start the Slummy, but all three of us were enthusiastic about starting an academy of our own. At first, it was just to get back at the centers, but I soon found boys who came to us after having gone through their own trials. I came to sympathize with these boys, to care for them like an older brother. Now, all of my "slummies," as I affectionately call them, consider me a mentor. They tell me that I've made them stronger than they ever would have gotten in the training centers.

They are the reason why, this year, I'll be volunteering for the Games.

I'm sure the training centers have picked their own candidate this year. In my eighteen years, I've never known a single tribute from District 2 who hasn't been a volunteer, male or female. But I want to prove to the District that the Slummy is legitimate, that we are a force to be reckoned with.

Besides, I'm worried that one of the newbies might be picked, just to try and teach us a lesson. If that's the case, I don't want their place to be taken by someone from the training centers. The boys look up to me as a mentor, so if I want to show them that I really do care for them, that I really do believe in what we're doing, it's up to me to show them, and the whole District, that I do have what it takes to win the Games.

My only stumbling block is that I'm going to have to be quick. When the escort calls for volunteers, I'm going to have to be immediately ready to grab the spot before whoever was picked by the training centers. The rule is that whoever is first to volunteer is usually the one who goes into the Games, and we have had some issues with people who weren't picked volunteering first. But, as I was so harshly reminded, the training centers aren't supposed to exist, so the escort doesn't know who was picked and who wasn't. They can't stop a volunteer just because that person wasn't picked by the District.

I hear the door open and then slam shut again, and I can only guess that Alena has returned home. I don't particularly want a run-in with her today, so once I'm positive I hear the shower water running, I use that as an opportunity to sneak out of the house and make my way over to the town square so I can sign in to the Reaping.

I've arrived earlier than Beck and Dash, so I mill about the eighteen-year-old male's section until they arrive. Most of the older boys give me a berth because they know all about the Slummy and don't believe in its legitimacy, but some of the younger boys I train come over to me to say hello.

When Beck and Dash do come, I'm tempted to tell them of my plans to volunteer. At the moment, no one else knows what I plan to do. But the thought of someone from the academies hearing and trying to foil my plans stops me. I'm not too worried about Beck and Dash being upset that I didn't tell them. They supported me and helped me start the Slummy. They'll support me with this decision as well, I'm sure of it.

Before too long, the mayor, escort, and all the living Victors take the stage. It's an impressive display, and soon, I hope I can add myself to the list. The individual honor will be nice, yes, but this is about more than just me. This is about proving the Slummy and all the slummies themselves to the rest of the District. This is about proving that we are a force to be reckoned with, and that the training centers decision to count all of those boys out was wrong.

The usual history, Treaties of Treason, and subsequent punishment for the Districts by the Capitol are the same as they are every year. Our list of Victors is read, and it takes twice as long as those from some of the other Districts. Finally, the escort takes the mayors place.

She wishes us a happy Hunger Games, and we repeat the words back to her. District 2, along with Districts 1 and 4, seem to be the only ones that find honor in winning the Games. Part of me wishes that the tributes from the outer Districts would find the Games as a cause for honor so they would put up more of a fight. There's nothing rewarding about beating a kid who has already counted themselves out.

I glance over towards the girl's section, and I find Alena looking bloodthirsty. I can't tell if this means she was chosen to represent District 2, or if she's just angry about not being chosen. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.

The escort fishes her hand around the female Reaping ball, trying to draw out the suspense as though we won't have a volunteer this year. "Raine Bryer!" she calls out. The girl gets up to the stage nonchalantly. She's only thirteen, but she knows there will be a volunteer to take her place.

Sure enough, when our escort asks for volunteers, a voice pipes up. "I volunteer!" That's not Alena's voice. That means she will not be going into the Games this year. Good. Alena has spent most of her time trying to cover for my weaknesses. She'd be a difficult opponent to beat, and I don't fancy testing myself out against her in a life or death scenario.

The girl who does volunteer announced her name as Leta McClain. I recognize her from my time in the academies, but that's because her build is so distinctive: she's shorter than five feet, but made purely of muscle. She'll be a worthy opponent.

"And our male tribute is…" the escort begins, going to pick a name. I start bouncing on the balls of my feet. This is the moment of truth. I need to be quick. "Ebonic Hart!"

The boy climbs the stage, and just like the girl, he doesn't look worried at all. In fact, he's looking towards my section of boys, preparing for the chosen tribute to take his place. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer!" I cry out as soon as the words leave her mouth. There are murmurs of shock from all around me, but no one can stop me. A few of the boys I pass look murderous when I reach the stage, and even Leta can't completely hide her shock.

I reach the stage, and I've done it. I've made it into the Games. And I will do whatever is takes to prove myself and my slummies to all of Panem.

Leta McClain, the Calm Storm

District 2 Female

"We have our winner!" the trainer announces, holding up my arm. I'm breathing heavily, but smiling from ear to ear. Finally, after years of hard work, I've earned the right to volunteer in this year's Hunger Games.

I offer a hand to my opponent on the floor, Alena Casteran. She put up a terrific fight, and I was proud to go against her. "Good job," I say, still mostly out of breath. She simply glares at me and gets up without my help, stalking off. I shrug. If she wants to be bitter, that's her problem. I won fair and square, just like it should be.

"Congratulations, Leta," the trainer says. "You've more than earned the spot this year. We'll all be cheering you on." My grin only grows at his words. I've trained for years, like most of the District, and it's gratifying that my hard work is being recognized.

The other spectators walk up to me and offer their own congratulations, but soon enough, I'm left alone with my two best friends, Candice and Juno. Both of them smile at me.

"Excellent work, Leta, I knew you could do it," Candice beams. She's always been my biggest cheerleader, which I'm grateful for. She's certainly motivated, like I am, but she also boasts a much louder personality, which is a nice foil to my own quieter nature. I prefer friends who are more exuberant than I for a balance to my calmness.

"You could stand to look a little happier though," Juno laughs. "If I didn't know you so well, I would hardly guess that you've just been given the greatest honor District 2 has to offer." I roll my eyes at her statement. In truth, I am happy, but I've never been particularly good at expressing my emotions. But while my face might not give anything away, the joy I feel at being chosen is real, and Juno knows that.

"Do either of you know who they picked for the boys?" I ask while I grab a water bottle. The sooner I find out my competition, the better.

"Yeah, it's Jasper de Rolo," Candice answers. I nod my head. I know him. He's strong, but not the brightest person District 2 has to offer. He'll be a welcome meat shield in the Career pack, and shouldn't be too hard for me to finish off once the inevitable breaking of that alliance happens.

"Well, I should get going and shower before the Reaping," I say. Candice nods and heads out, telling us she'll meet us in the square.

"Can I uh… head home with you?" Juno asks tentatively once Candice is gone. I nod, but I can't stop the frown on my face. Juno has been hiding out at my house a lot recently. I'm not upset with her for being over, but I am upset as to why she feels she has to come. Her parents are highly disappointed Juno wasn't selected to compete in the Games, but Juno never wanted that. She entered the competition this year to make her parents happy, but purposely lost in one of the early rounds. I'm just glad I wasn't who she was up against when she threw the match. I won't have anyone saying that I didn't earn my place fairly.

Juno and I make our way over to my house, and once inside I quickly shower and get ready. I know that I'll be a surprise to the rest of the Career pack, so I do my best to look as nice as I can. I know I can't be intimidating standing at only four foot eight, so I don't even try to go for that angle. Still, I hope that my muscle will count for some points for me with the sponsors, and I'm fairly confident that the Careers won't turn me away once I prove my skills during the training.

My parents are thrilled, of course, when I tell them that I'll be competing. My mother has a reaction similar to Candice. My father is like me, however, in the sense that he's not one to wear his emotions on his sleeves, but I can tell he's pleased. I've made them proud, and that fills me with even more joy.

The square is crowded by time Juno and I reach it to sign in for the Reaping. Most people are milling about and chatting with their friends. The atmosphere here in 2 is so different than what I've seen on TV from the other Districts. Most Districts are reserved and quiet, but in District 2 the Hunger Games are a form of entertainment. We see the Games the same way the Capitol does, and it's a great honor to be chosen for them.

Juno and I make our way to the eighteen-year-old girl's section, making sure to say hello to Candice as we pass by the seventeen-year-olds. Alena Casteran is in this section, and she gives me a nasty look as we pass. If Alena was eighteen, I'd be genuinely concerned that she would be planning to volunteer anyway out of spite, but hopefully that won't happen. I'd be furious if she took my spot from me. I beat her, so the spot is rightfully mine.

The Reaping soon after Juno and I reach our section, and I listen politely as the Mayor reads about the history of Panem, and goes through the two rebellions that brought us to this stage. He reminds us that District 2 has been given so many graces by the Capitol and that we're lucky. I frown at that word. I've never relied on luck to get to where I am today, and I don't want anyone watching the Games to think I'm good just because I was "lucky" enough to be born in District 2.

Finally, the escort takes the stage. She wishes us a happy Hunger Games, but then gets on to the main event. She still has to go through the motions of picking a tribute, though I'm sure everyone knows that District 2's tributes will both be volunteers. "Raine Bryer!"

I watch while Raine gets up to the stage, not letting my face betray anything, but inside I'm almost bursting with excitement. My time is almost here.

The escort asks for volunteers, and I rise my hand. "I volunteer!" I cry out, and the girls make a path for me. Many are smiling at me, and I walk up to the stage. I know my looks won't make me intimidating, so I will have to appear confident to earn respect. I mount the stage and introduce myself to the escort.

Once I'm established as this year's female tribute, the escort turns to the male's Reaping ball. "Ebonic Hart!" she calls out, and as soon as the boy is standing next to me, she once again asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer!" I hear a shout, but that's not the voice of Jasper de Rolo. Indeed, when I find Jasper in the crowd, he appears utterly flabbergasted. Instead, Nero Casteran, older brother of Alena Casteran, takes the stage beside me.

At the moment, I'm grateful for how much my face doesn't betray my emotions, because inside I'm absolutely seething. I tend to look like a joke when I'm angry because of my stature and features in general, but part of me doesn't care. Nero isn't even allowed to train at the centers anymore. How dare he take the place of another! He took the spot away from someone who rightfully deserved it, and the unfairness of the whole situation is infuriating me.

I shake his hand when I'm asked to, but my fury at him has not waned. The problem is that I will likely need him in the arena for the original Career alliance, but I almost don't want to let him in. Everything in me screams in protest at the thought of having to work with someone who cheated his way into the Games.

My rage has not abated when I'm taken back to the Justice Building to say my goodbyes, but I try to think more logically about the situation. I've never been one to come out on top when I let my anger get the better of me. Keeping a calm head is the only way I know how to go, and I will do the same in this situation. I take a few deep breaths, and when the doors open for the first time, I've calmed down considerably.

"Good job Leta, we know you'll do great," my mother bubbles as she enters the room. I smile a bit at her praise, though I'm still not one hundred percent myself yet.

"We have every faith that you'll make us, and the District, proud in the Games," my father adds, startling me a bit. I've always gotten on well with my father, but he's always been quieter, preferring to leave the praising to my mother. In this scenario, however, I guess he wanted to be sure that I knew exactly how he felt, and I'm touched by the gesture. I hug them both and promise to see them again when I make it back home.

My mother and father are almost immediately replaced by Candice and Juno, both of whom are looking confused. "Do either of you know what that was about?" Candice asks. Both Juno and I shake our heads.

"No one was expecting that. I heard Jasper was almost ready to fight after Nero went on to the stage," Juno notes.

"Alena didn't even know. She was standing right next to me, and trust me, she was _furious _about him volunteering," Candice adds.

"Well, whatever the reason, that's the situation now," I sigh. "Even if I don't like it. But I'll just treat this the same. It doesn't change my strategy at all. I'll still be able to win the Games."

Candice grins at me. "Hell yeah you will! Show Panem exactly what you're made of!" she cheers. Juno wishes me luck as well, but shortly after that my friends are taken away, and I'm led to the train station.

My district partner is already at the station when I arrive, answering a few questions the reporters are throwing at him. I'm struck again by the injustice of him being here when it should be Jasper, but I don't let him know that. I turn to the journalists myself and do my best to give them satisfactory answers. I know that sponsors are watching, but I don't want to rely too much on their help. I'd much rather get through the Games by my own work rather than the help of any sponsor.

Our mentors reach the station and usher us onto the train, and soon I'm left in a compartment with Nero. He turns towards me. "Good luck," he says with a show bow of his head. I stiffly return the bow, but don't offer the same wishes to him.

I'm more determined than ever to win the Games. And I will do it myself, not relying on any form of cheating like my district partner. I will show all of Panem how much hard work pays off.

Phoenix "Nix" Grey, the Protective Lover

District 10 Female

When I wake up in the morning, the bed is cold. This is strange to me. Almost every morning I wake nearly suffocating in the heat that's caused by sharing a bed with two other people. But this morning, both Charlene and Felicity have already left the room.

I suppose that's to be expected. It's the morning of the Reaping after all, and I know that they're both nervous; too nervous, in fact, to sleep in much. I'm actually surprised I didn't wake up with them, especially because I'm usually up with the sun every day without fail. I guess I was just too tired to wake early today.

But I can't put off today any longer. Sleeping in isn't going to make the Reaping suddenly disappear. Sighing, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and begin to get ready for the day.

By the time I'm dressed and go out into the kitchen, Felicity and Charlene are at the table. They appear to have already finished their breakfast. Charlene's parents are nowhere to be seen. "Where are your mom and dad?" I ask her as I put my hands on Felicity's shoulders and run my fingers through her hair for a moment.

"They went to the market. I think they want to celebrate tonight when we're all safe," Charlene answers brightly. I frown slightly at her use of the word 'when.' We're not guaranteed safety, but Charlene insists that thinking negatively won't do us any good. I wish I could have her outlook, but I guess one of us needs to be the serious one, and I've always fit that role.

"I could have spent money for myself and Felicity," I murmur as I take a seat and begin buttering some rough bread. Charlene reaches across the table and takes my hand.

"You're family. Both of you," she says gently but firmly. "I know that it's hard for you to accept, Nix, but we all love you unconditionally. And besides, you're helping us with your own wages." She's right about that. I couldn't stand asking Carolina and Karlos Lindsay to feed two more mouths without contributing in some way, so after Felicity and I moved in I got a job at one of the local farms. It wasn't a large salary by any means, but between the job and the tesserae I've taken out, I've at least managed to feel like I've helped a little.

Charlene walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "You should wear your hair down for once," she says, pulling my long brown hair out of the hasty ponytail I had put it in earlier this morning. "I never get to see you with your hair down and I kind of like it," she teases lightly. I just roll my eyes at her and finish up my food.

"You guys are gross," Felicity complains, but she can't stop the smile on her face. She and Charlene treat each other like sisters, and their close relationship has made me happy beyond belief. If Charlene and Felicity hadn't liked each other, I don't know what I would have done.

"We can be grosser!" Charlene laughs before kissing me full on the mouth with a loud smack. Felicity pretends to gag, but can't hold back her laughs for long. I even find myself chuckling a bit as well.

"Anyway, Carolina and Karlos said they'd meet up with us after the Reaping," Felicity informs me after she gets her giggles under control. "We were gonna wake you up soon, but you've been working so hard lately we wanted to let you sleep."

I smile at my precious little sister. "Thanks," I murmur. "But we should get going soon. I don't want to be late." I leave out the other reason I want to get to the Reaping a little early. Felicity doesn't need to know that I'll be looking for them.

Charlene and Felicity both agree with me, so once I've finished my breakfast, we leave the house and begin to make our way to the town square. It's a bit of a walk to the square from where we live, so by time we get there the line to sign in is quite long.

"Hey guys," Tiana says as she finds us in the crowd. She squeezes past a couple people to join us in the line. "You all look nice. Nix, are you really wearing your hair down? I don't think I've seen that for a few years."

"Charlene pulled it down this morning," I shrug. "If I would have put it back up, she just would have taken it down again. I didn't figure it was worth putting up a fight."

"Can't a girl want a little different style from her girlfriend up once and a while?" Charlene asks, causing a few people around us to scowl. I scowl right back at them. I don't care what people say about me, but whenever I deem anyone to be judging Charlene or Felicity, it's hard for me to control my rage. I'd protect them to my dying breath.

Of course, most people aren't comfortable with Charlene and I, so I have to deal with their stares and judgments more often than I'd like. I've heard that in the upper Districts and the Capitol, fluid sexuality isn't a problem. But out here in the lower Districts, it's far more rare and people aren't as welcoming towards same-sex couples. That's something I know all too well….

"Hand please!" a Peacekeeper demands, breaking me out of my thoughts. I extend my hand and feel the familiar prick on my finger as they sign me into the Reaping, but I'm not paying much attention. I'm busy looking out into the crowd of parents and older and younger siblings, but I don't see their faces anywhere.

_There are hundreds of people here. It would be easy to miss them, _I try to tell myself, but in my heart, I know the truth: they simply don't care. They're at the Reaping, no one would dare miss it, but they'll be on the fringes, along with those who don't have children or friends they care about still eligible for the Games.

I hug Felicity now that we're signed in; she's supposed to go off and join the other thirteen-year-olds. Charlene and I say goodbye to Tiana as well as she slips into the fifteen-year-old section. Only Charlene will stay with me during the Reaping.

"What's wrong, Nix?" she asks gently as she catches sight of my face. I've never been great at hiding my emotions in the first place, and Charlene can read me better than anyone except maybe Felicity. She knows how much pain I'm in.

"They're not here," I say softly, trying to conceal how much it breaks my heart to admit that. Charlene frowns then takes my face in between her hands, apparently not caring who sees us.

"Nix, they proved that they don't care two years ago. Don't waste your energy on them, they're not worth it," she murmurs too urgently to be truly comforting. "You have me, Mom and Dad, and Felicity. You don't need them."

I nod my head, knowing that she's right. If my parents had really cared about me, I would still be living with them. But they don't. They showed that when they told me I either needed to break up with Charlene or get out of their house. I chose the latter, and Felicity came with me. I've only seen them a few times since then, to beg for their acceptance. I still have a scar on my cheek from one of those encounters.

I shouldn't care about them, but I do. They're my parents. I haven't been able to turn off my love for them, and I want to make things right, though more for Felicity's sake than mine. I absolutely hate that she's getting pushed aside by our parents for my actions. And it breaks my heart to know that they don't seem to care at all.

Knowing that my thoughts are still on my parents, Charlene puts her arms around me, holding me until a bell rings, signaling the start of the Reaping. "We'll be alright," she whispers as she mostly lets go of me but still keeps one of her hands in mine.

Our Mayor gets on the stage with our escort and the other Victors District 10 boasts. We don't have many, but the Victor last year did come from our District. Kota Garrison sits at the very end of the row, and doesn't look happy to be there.

We go through the usual spiel about how the Districts rebelled, twice, and failed, twice. As penance, we have to send two children to fight to their death every year, knowing full well most of them won't make it back alive. It's a cruel world we live in, but I don't harbor any rebellious tendencies. The Capitol has brought harsh punishment down on the worst of the offenders, and I'm just lucky I live in a District that was mostly spared the Capitol's wrath. I have enough to worry about as it is.

Before too long, the escort replaces the Mayor. This one is new, since the other one was promoted after Kota won last year. She tries to muster up enthusiasm for the Reaping, but we're certainly not a District who celebrates the Games like they do in the Career Districts or the Capitol.

After a few flat jokes, she decides that enough is enough and makes her way to the female's Reaping ball. I know that thirteen of those slips have my name on them. I didn't need to take out tesserae when I was still living with my parents, but when Felicity and I moved in with Charlene I began to take some to try and alleviate some of the stress I knew we were putting on the Lindsay's.

She grabs a piece of paper and my grip on Charlene's hand tightens. I close my eyes tight, praying that it won't be one of us….

"Felicity Grey!" I hear the name, and I can't breathe. This can't be happening. Felicity can't go into the Games. She's only thirteen! She'd never make it past the initial bloodbath.

"I volunteer!" I shout out before Felicity can make it to the stage. I hear her cries behind me, but I force myself not to look at her as I mount the stage. From there, I can see her still struggling, but Charlene has grabbed her, holding her back. Both of them are crying, and I have to force myself not to join them.

The escort is excited about the prospect of a volunteer of course, but I don't hear her words. Blood is rushing through my ears, and I'm still shaking at the thought of Felicity nearly having to go into the Games. It's only until several minutes later that I realize what I've done.

I've saved my sister. Now I will have to fight for my life in her place. But as long as she's safe, I don't care. I won't let anything happen to her. I've already caused her enough hardships. I won't watch her die too.

Malinois Ferguson, the Ordered Planner

District 10 Male

There's a bit of a commotion while Reaping the female tribute, causing the event to go on longer than I would have liked. Apparently, the girl has got it into her head to volunteer for her younger sister, and the sister is now sobbing, having to be held back. The whole spectacle is far too similar with what happened at the beginning of the Mockingjay's Rebellion for anyone's comfort. Even the escort seems shaken by the whole thing, but she's trying her best to stay upbeat and positive.

As for me, I couldn't care less. My plan for today is to get through the Reaping and then read a chapter of a new book before helping my father prepare dinner.

Of course, I know that I have a high probability of being Reaped from having to take out full tesserae each year, but that's not uncommon here in District 10. I'm in no more danger than anyone else. I won't deviate from my plan. Thinking of alternate solutions would do nothing but cause me stress, and there's nothing I hate more than being unnecessarily stressed out.

Finally, the sisters get their situation sorted out. The older girl, who introduces herself as Phoenix Grey, will be going into the Games. The escort goes over to the male's Reaping ball, picking out a second slip. I tap my foot in impatience. I just want the whole thing to be over already. It's already gone on longer than I had planned.

"And our lucky male tribute is," she begins before unfolding the paper. "Malinois Ferguson!" I freeze as she calls out my name. Though I knew this was a possibility, I hadn't planned for a situation where I would have to go into the Games.

_Walk up to the stage, don't show any weakness for the cameras_, I remind myself, giving me a list that I can check off as I go along. Mutely, I walk up towards the stage, doing my best not to appear scared. I manage the first task on my list. I make it up without any incidents. But when I catch a sight of myself on the cameras, my brown eyes have fear written in their depths. I can only hope none of the other tributes, especially the Careers, will catch on.

I quickly turn away from the cameras to begin focusing on my next task. I'll have to shake the girl's hand, then go to the back to say goodbye to some people. The escort asks for volunteers, but I don't kid myself into thinking there will be any. I have no older siblings to volunteer to take my place. While I have some close friends, none of them would ever sign up to die just for my sake.

I turn to Phoenix, who, like me, is showing her fear through her eyes. Her advantage is that the Capitolites will be moved to sympathy out of her compassion for her sister. For now, I'm just another tribute. I'll have to do some special things in the Capitol to get sponsors of my own.

That will be the first thing I ask my mentor once I meet him. I'll most likely have Kota Garrison, whom the Capitol seems to like. That will be another advantage on my part. At this point, I'll take any that I can get.

My mind is so busy formulating my plans that I hardly notice the Peacekeepers leading me into the Justice Building. I'm not expecting my goodbyes to be overly sentimental, especially not compared to the girl. I can already hear tears now that I'm in my room, and I'm quite certain they aren't from my parents.

Sure enough, when my parents are led in, they're not sobbing. They're shaken, to be sure, but not in hysterics.

My father is the first to speak. "We… we don't quite know what to say," he murmurs. "Other than we hope you'll come back."

"Yes, sir," I say quickly. It may seem odd to some that even though this might be the last time I ever see my parents I still refer to them in respectful terms, but that's how I was raised. They are authority figures, and have earned my respect.

"Perhaps… perhaps you might make it," my father continues. "You've gotten strong from working on the farm. That could be helpful." During his musings, my mother looks down at her feet, and I think for a moment she might have been reduced to tears. But when she lifts her head, her eyes are free of tears.

"Just… do your best to come back," she whispers. I nod my head. I do want to come back, simply because I don't want to die. There's no overwhelming urge to come back for the people in my life, though I do care about them. But my needs have been reduced to their most primal: the need to survive.

"I'll do everything I can," I promise, and at my words, both my father and mother give me a brief hug before the Peacekeepers open the door and they're led out. Almost immediately, they're replaced by Soay, my best friend.

"So… is this it?" he asks as he takes a seat. I rub my hand over my face.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I don't want to die, but does anyone? I'm sure everyone goes in not actually wanting to die, so that doesn't make me special. I guess…" I trail off here, not sure if I want to voice my thoughts aloud. This might be a conversation I need to save for my mentor, because it's bothering me a bit how calm I am about it.

"You guess what?" Soay urges. I take a deep breath before continuing. If I do come back, he and everyone else will have seen the decision I made anyway. And if I don't come back… well, then there's no harm.

"I'm not going to hesitate to kill. That might set me apart," I admit. I've certainly never killed somebody before, though I've gotten into a few fights when people test my patience. Usually, I win these fights, so I'm not completely hopeless. My plan now is to learn how to use a weapon, because I've never been in a fight for my life before.

"A-are you sure?" Soay whispers. "I mean, I know that's the whole point of the Games, but… that's never been asked of you."

"If it comes down to them surviving or me surviving, I'm going to pick me. Every time," I point out.

Soay opens his mouth hesitantly as though he's about to say something else, but just then the Peacekeepers reappear and ask him to leave. "Well… hopefully this isn't goodbye," he says, though I can't help but notice he won't meet my eyes. My confession has unnerved him, that much is certain. But it's not a decision I'll regret. My life means more to me than the lives of strangers, and for me, that's a simple truth.

I'm not expecting anyone else after Soay and my parents, so it's a bit of a surprise when one more person walks in. It's Haylee Yorkshire, wife of my boss at the farm I work at. Though her appearance is a surprise, it's a welcome one, as I've always gotten along with her well. It's not a conventional friendship we have, but she's always good for listening to anything I need to vent about. Any information I don't want to burden my parents with, I usually turn to her. She's an authority figure, but not as much as my parents or boss.

"I won't stay long," she says by way of greeting. "I just wanted to say goodbye, and that I'll miss seeing you around." She's very direct, which I appreciate. I hate having to guess at what people are saying, and I've never had to do that with her. "And if you do happen to come back, I'll be here celebrating. I'd pull together something to sponsor you with, but I don't think we have that kind of money. Still, my heart will be with you," she smiles.

"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. She goes to leave, but before she's entirely out of the door, she pokes her head back in.

"One more thing," she adds hesitantly. "Just… think of the other tributes like the coyotes we get on the farm. They're predators, and it will be necessary to get rid of them." With that, she takes her leave. It's odd, but the wife of my boss is the only one to understand where I'm coming from. I don't want to think of the tributes as human. That will only make killing them harder. I've never been the biggest fan of the Capitol, but I'm certainly not a rebel either. If they want me to play their Games, then I will. It's better than bringing their retribution onto me and my family.

After Haylee leaves, my stream of visitors has come to an end. Before too long, I'm led by the Peacekeepers back onto the platform. My District partner gets there after me, and it's clear that she's been crying. But she's pulled herself together now that the cameras are back in full force. I turn away from her. She's just another person in the way of me surviving now. It would be foolish to get to know her or think of her as a friend. There are no friends in the arena.

As we board the train, I begin going over plans in my mind. Strategy is key at this point, and I'll have to have a strong one to have even a slim prayer of surviving. First, I'll have to talk to my mentor about how he won the Games last year and soak up every bit of information he has for me. He could be my biggest asset.

Next, I'll have to learn how to use a weapon during the limited training I'll get. I may have won the few fist fights I've had, but that won't get me far when I'll be put in the arena with several Careers who have been wielding weapons since they could walk. If I can learn to pick them off, preferably from a distance, I'll have an actual shot at winning.

I'll have to stick to my plan, and my decisions. While it might not be easy, killing is what I've been assigned to do. I will allow nothing to distract me from my final goal. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that I stay alive.

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**A/N: And we're done with another reaping! Only two more chapters to go before we move on to the Capitol. I'm going to be keeping the pre-Game stuff with the Capitol pretty brief (i.e. not every District is going to get a train POV, training POV, etc.) but I will do another POV shot from every tribute once again before we head into the Games proper. And one more thing before I let you go, let me know if you'd like to see me post various updates/sneak peeks of coming chapters on my tumblr. It's under the same name I have on here, TitaniaTinuviel. I hope to hear your thoughts in a review and I'll see you next time with Districts 3 and 7!**

**~TT**


	6. Reapings: Districts 3 and 7

**A/N: Ugh. I know this chapter has taken a very long time to write, but I had to battle that horrible disease known as writer's block. I don't know why I had such a bad case of it, but it wasn't just with this. It was with my original novel, and another FanFiction I'll be posting once I'm done with the Reaping's. I've rewritten this more times that I can count because I really don't want to give you guys something subpar. But I finally managed to salvage this, and I hope you like it!**

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Percy Kilo, the Remorseful Loner

District 3 Male

When I wake up, the room is still dark. This comes as no surprise to me; I have enough trouble sleeping as it is, and on Reaping day, my sleeping problems are infinitely worse. I really shouldn't be scared, but I can't help it. I'm terrified that either myself or my sister will be forced into the Games.

Of course, if I voiced these fears out loud, Katy would probably be shocked. We've barely interacted for years. I've tried to get a better relationship with her, but I'm just too scared. I'd have to tell her the truth, and she might hate me for it. I know that I would hate me, if I were in her shoes.

I lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, fully aware that no matter how hard I try, I won't be getting back to sleep. I'll be exhausted the rest of the day, but that's nothing new. It's not like anyone except maybe the housemaid will notice anyway.

I don't know how long I lay there, but when I do finally move, my room has turned from black to shades of gray as the sunrise begins and starts to fill my bedroom with what light can get past my thick curtains. My room is nothing if not comfortable. It's big, and has every material possession I could ever want. But it's also cold and lonely, and no amount of gadgets or comforts could replace another human's companionship.

I can hear that others are awake as well, but since our house is so big, I can't make out anything more than muffled footsteps. Still, I decide that I better start getting ready. I'll take a lot longer to make myself look presentable than Katy will need.

I cross the room to look into my mirror. Even in the dim light, I wince at my reflection. I have black hair like Katy, but hers always seems to shine while mine just looks oily. Her amber eyes are striking and almost look otherworldly, while mine are dull. Worst of all was my weight. I'm well aware that underneath my shirt, my ribs stick out of my chest. I can't stand to look at myself for more than a couple minutes.

I turn away and instead head over to my closet. It doesn't have much since I don't care for fashion in the slightest, but what I do have has been immaculately cared for by the housemaids. I choose a simple white dress shirt and black pants, a drastic departure from the usual graphic t-shirt and jeans that I usually wear. I hate the overly stiff feeling of these clothes, but I don't want to garner attention at the Reaping by showing up in my everyday clothes when everyone else will undoubtedly be in their finest.

By now, the light is fully shining into my bedroom, so there's not much point in hiding out here further. If I stay too much longer, one of the maids will come up for me, and I'd rather make my way out by myself. So, reluctantly, I slump downstairs.

Just as I'm about to enter the kitchen, I freeze as I hear my parent's voices. I thought they would already be out of the house to gamble on the Reaping's this year. But no, they're still here, and as they always do whenever they're home, they're fawning over Katy.

"That purple dress really brings out your eyes, my dove," my mother croons in her fake, overly sugary voice. "You'll definitely get attention today. Maybe even bring home a suitor, hmmm? You have to start looking soon, after all!"

"She'll make a good match. Of that I have no doubt," my father remarks. I wonder if I'm the only one that can hear the warning tone in his voice. To me, he seems to be saying 'You'll make a good match… or else.' But what do I know? I can count the number of times my father has directly addressed me on one hand. I don't know the man well enough to get an accurate read on him.

"Thank you. I'll do my best." Katy's voice is robotic and unemotional. I can picture her at the table, looking down with her hands folded in her lap, looking immaculate. She doesn't have a choice in the matter. She's the beautiful one. She's the one who gets all the attention from our parents. She's the one who's spoiled.

I wish I didn't hate her for it.

At least, I used to hate her for it. I don't so much anymore, but I am still a little resentful. But now that I'm older, I realize that none of it was Katy's fault. She didn't ask to look the way she does, and she certainly didn't ask to be made a spectacle of by our parents. I only wish I had come into this mindset earlier. Maybe then I could have protected her a little better.

After a few minutes, my father announces that he and my mother have to leave early for 'business reasons.' I have to work hard not to snort at that. He'll be gambling, and if he's lucky, my mother will join him. But more than likely, she'll be spending the morning with a lover. One thing I am certain of is that my parents actually hate each other. The only reason they're still together is for appearances, to keep up the illusion of a perfect family.

Unfortunately, their vision of a perfect family doesn't include an ugly, malnourished son. But once they leave, I can't linger in the hallway any longer. I want to go to the Reaping with Katy, and if I stay here, she'll likely leave without me.

I slink into the kitchen and grab some fruit and oatmeal. Katy's still at the table, picking at her own food. I chew on my lip for a moment before going to sit next to her.

"Hi," I mumble as I start peeling my banana and take a small bite. Even with this first bite, I can tell that I won't be able to finish even this small breakfast. The banana alone might even be too much for me. Katy's startling amber eyes flash up to meet mine for a moment.

"Hey," she greets after a moment of silence. She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. I recognize it as a nervous habit. She really does look stunning, and I can only hope people will have more decency than to start something at the Reaping. I wouldn't put it past some of the vicious girls here to try and rip her dress.

I feel my cheeks go red and I turn back to my food. Katy never should have had to go through the torment she went through. I shouldn't be worried about her potentially getting harassed every time she walks out of the house. But it's more than a possibility, it's a reality. And I'm the reason for it.

Katy doesn't know anything about that though. She doesn't know that when she was bullied and made fun of just for being pretty and rich, I stood back and watched. I thought she had taken our parents love all for herself, without realizing that they had never cared about either one of us enough to love us in the first place. I could have stepped up and told those bullies to leave her alone. But I didn't, and now I pay the consequences for it every single day. I can't look at my sister without the guilt and shame burning up inside me. It almost makes me physically sick.

The worst part is that I'm too much of a coward, even now, to apologize. To do so, I would have to admit what I did, or rather, didn't do. And I can't face the fact that she might never talk to me again if that's the case. Katy used to be my best friend before our parents showed up and realized that she was so pretty, and they could use her. I want to repair that friendship. I'm too scared to risk damaging it. The only record I have of my confession and apology is in a small black notebook that, even now, is hidden in the folds of my shirt.

"Do you… do you want to go down to the Reaping together?" I manage to ask, though I still can't bring myself to look at her.

"Sure," she responds, soundly pleasantly surprised. "But aren't you going to eat something more? You've barely touched your breakfast."

I look down and realize she's right. I've only made it through about three quarters of my banana. But I'm so full, I don't think I could stomach another bite. "I'm fine," I lie. "I'll eat something after the Reaping." But I doubt I will. No matter how hard I've tried this past year to eat better, my years of starving myself to be slim like Katy have taken their toll. I can't seem to make myself eat enough, and even on the rare chances I do, I usually throw it back up again. I tried to make myself skinny to make myself look better, more like Katy, to try and get my parents to want me too, but like most of my attempts, it backfired in the worst possible way.

I hope Katy doesn't notice my physique. My clothes to a decent job of hiding it, but they can't hide my sunken cheeks. I look identical to the poor kids, the ones who've never had enough food to go around. I'm sickened that I thought I should starve myself when so many in our District would kill for the access to food that I've had.

"So, have you designed any video games lately?' Katy asks after we've walked halfway to the square in total silence. Her question wrestles a small smile from my face.

"Yeah, actually," I bashfully grin. "I was thinking about one where you start by playing as a king or prince trying to lead your army, and you add more characters as the game goes on. It's still just a rough idea though. I have to work on it a lot more."

"That's really cool!" she enthuses, and when I summon the courage to look up at her, her smile is alive and genuine. I haven't seen that smile from her in years. "Do you… do you think I could design some of the characters? Would that be okay?" I smile back at her.

"That would be great," I tell her. When we were young, Katy and I always used to design video games together. I'm so touched that she's remembered those times and wants to go back to them. My heart nearly bursts from being so happy. Maybe, just maybe, Katy and I can be friends again, and maybe I can have to courage to finally apologize after all these years.

I'm so happy, I haven't realized we've reached the Reaping until I hear cruel laughter in front of me. I look in the direction of the noise and find two girls laughing at Katy's dress. Katy immediately ducks her head and proceeds to check in. I pull myself up to my fullest height. "L-l-leave her alone," I squeak, utterly failing at the confident angle I was going for. The girls just laugh harder.

Katy pushes past me. "I have to go to my section," she mumbles. I try to reach out for her, but she's out of my reach.

"Hand please," the Peacekeeper barks, and I'm forced to turn away from Katy's retreating figure. I finish signing in and stand in my own section, feeling even more miserable than this morning. I had been making such good progress with Katy. How could it all be ruined in one single moment?

I tune out the Mayor's speech. It's the same every year, and I don't care about what the Districts did years and years before I was ever born. I don't pay attention at all until our escort takes the stage. We have a new one this year, recently promoted from District 10. Her smug smile is prominent on her face as she espouses her love for the beginning of the Games before she walks over to pick the female.

She takes her precious time digging around in the ball before finally picking a name. I can only hope that it's not Katy. Neither of us have ever had to take out tesserae, but at seventeen, we have a couple more names than other tributes.

"Siri Sparks!" I breathe a sigh of relief. A fifteen-year-old girl walks up to the stage, and I'm surprised that she appears quite calm instead of frightened. I'm slightly impressed, actually.

Then, the escort goes over to the male's Reaping ball, repeating the process. She unfolds the paper as she heads to the microphone. "Percy Kilo!" she chirps out.

I freeze. This can't be right. I can't be going into the Games. I haven't fixed things with Katy yet! I can't die without her knowing the truth.

Numbly, I walk up onto the stage, and I find Katy. I'm stunned to see that she's crying, sobbing even. I can't die with so much left unsaid between us. I'm going to have to try to come back, for her sake. I've done so much harm to her, and that cycle ends today.

Siri Sparks, the Naïve Analyzer

District 3 Female

While at the Reaping, I curiously listen to the Mayor's speech. He never mixes it up much, and the general idea is the same every year. As punishment for uprising, the Districts must send 24 of their children in a fight to the death, where only one will come out alive.

I have to fight a strong urge to snort at his words. A televised fight to the death? I don't buy it. They can fake whatever they want on TV, and no one ever sees the tributes bodies after they're supposedly sent back in the wooden coffins that are always nailed completely shut, never to be opened. I won't believe all those tributes are dead unless I have proof.

Besides, it's not like we can believe anything the Capitol tells us anyway. They just want to keep the Districts under their control, and they believe this is the best way to do it. But in my opinion, they aren't going to kill 23 kids who have the potential to make their lives better. If the Capitol cares about anything more than oppressing the Districts, it's their own comfort. They take kids who they think can better their lives, and pretend to kill them. And to keep up the charade, they choose one person to become a celebrity and be a Victor.

Eventually, the Mayor's speech comes to an end and the escort takes the stage. I start paying attention again, eager to see who the Capitol wants to choose this year. I don't expect that we'll be the District chosen to have the Victor. District 3 is known for producing brilliant children, and if the Games were real, we'd have far more Victors than we do. But the Capitol wants our brains for themselves, so they fake our deaths.

Another reason that fuels my belief that the Games are fake are that the usual Victors are Career tributes. They're the ones that volunteer, not the ones that the Capitol wants. As such, they have nothing to offer the Capitol and are sent back to their Districts.

The escort finishes with her opening statements and moves slowly towards the Reaping ball. I wonder if she and the other Capitolites know the Games are fake or if they believe in their little reality show? The government must know, of course, but I don't think the common people know. The Capitol wouldn't want to risk the information getting out.

"Siri Sparks!" the escort calls out, startling me enough to break me out of my thoughts. Surprised, I make my way up to the stage. I'm not scared, nor am I particularly nonplussed. I thought that maybe my skills with computers and generally being near the top of my classes might qualify the Capitol to take me, but I didn't think it would be for another few years.

The escort chirps for a moment about how pleased she is with how calm and brave I'm appearing, but it's not an act. I know the truth. I don't think I'll be chosen to be the Victor, but I also know that my life isn't about to end. I'm too valuable for that. My brain is too valuable for that.

After a moment, the escort continues the show and picks the male tribute. "Percy Kilo!" she announces happily. This name shocks me more than my own. Everybody knows the Kilo's; they're the richest family in the District, except maybe the Mayor. But I thought they only had one child. Everyone knows Katy Kilo. But I'd never heard of a Percy Kilo before.

The boy is obviously scared when he reaches the stage, and even though he's older than I am, I want to tell him that we'll be alright. But I can't do that now. I'll have to wait until we're alone on the train. I can't risk exposing the Capitols secrets on live television. That was always my parents one rule. They were always happy to let me in on their beliefs, but they warned me to be careful. It was a secret, and I had to be counted upon to keep it.

I wonder why Percy was chosen. He must have a special talent, or else he wouldn't have been picked. If anything, I would have guessed it might be Katy. She's so gorgeous, she might even have been chosen as a Victor so she could model for the Capitol. That sort of thing happened a few years ago with a female Victor from District 1.

The escort asks Percy and I to shake hands, and I do my best to give him a friendly smile. I'm sure he thinks that I'm planning to kill him, but that's not the case. I simply want him to know that I'm not an enemy. None of us tributes will ever really be enemies.

The goodbyes will be the only part of this process that will be real for me. The only thing I regret about going to the Capitol is not taking my parents with me, at least not right away. Sometimes, parents of supposedly deceased tributes 'die,' and suicide is always the given reason why. But again, there's no proof. I believe that these parents are taken to the Capitol to be with their children, to pacify these children so they won't reveal the secret.

When my parents visit me, they aren't crying, and I didn't expect them to be. I didn't come up with the conclusions about the Hunger Games by myself. My parents repeated their beliefs to me, and I trust them. They're my parents, why would they lie to me? Besides, their arguments make sense, and they're perfectly logical.

"Siri, are you sure you're going to be okay going off so early?" my mother asks. "I must say, I didn't expect this for another couple years. You're still very young…."

"She's capable, that much is certain, but I do wish we could go with you," my dad frowns. "We'll miss you more than you know if we aren't allowed to at least visit you once and a while." I laugh at his statement.

"If they want to keep you from me, I'll just pretend to cause trouble and then they'll send you to me to keep me quiet," I say with perfect confidence. "Don't worry, I don't want to be separated from you either. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they send you to live in the Capitol with me. And until then, I'll just learn what to do. You said that you think all the tributes who weren't chosen all live in the same area of the Capitol so they aren't found, right? So, I'll learn what I can from them. I'm sure I can wheedle some information out of my mentor too, once she learns that I know the truth."

"Well, I won't pretend that it won't be nice for you to really have the opportunity to shine," my mother smiles. "The Capitol has much better learning facilities than we have even here, and they obviously have big plans for you if they wanted you to live at the Capitol. Just do your best to try and see that we can come too, alright? But until then, we'll miss you so much." She gives me a tight hug, but the hug feels much more like she's saying 'See you later' instead of 'Goodbye.' My father's hug, immediately after my mother's, feels the same way.

They're just about to leave when my father turns back to me. "Don't forget to enjoy yourself before we get there," he murmurs so the Peacekeepers stationed outside won't hear him. "You have your whole life ahead of you. Enjoy it."

I nod my head seriously. "I will Father. I promise not to waste the opportunity I've been given." With that, my parents take their leave. I'm not really expecting anyone else, so it's a bit of a surprise when my neighbor, Dell, walks in after them.

Dell is twisting her hands nervously. I'm not as close with her as I am with my parents, but she is easily my closest friend. She's the only one who knows about my beliefs, though she doesn't share them herself. I think this is because her mother's sister was taken by the Capitol, and her family believes that woman to be dead.

"Siri," she starts. "I know what you think these Games are, but just in case you're wrong—"

"I'm not wrong," I insist. "My parents are brilliant. They wouldn't tell me that this was the case unless they were absolutely sure."

Dell winces. "I know, but just in case, please try to learn some survival and weapon skills. We all want you to come back, but if these turn out to be real, you'll be easy pickings if you don't learn some things. It might be your only chance," she pleads.

I roll my eyes, but promise that I'll learn some things to placate her. She doesn't look like she believes me fully, but she can't stay any longer, and neither can I. The train is waiting to take me to my new life.

I answer some of the reporter's questions, being mindful not to give away my secrets. I can tell that some of the journalists are surprised by what they consider to be bravery, and I can't help but smile to myself. I'm so lucky to know what I know. When they ask my why I'm not scared I simply say "I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I'm sure they'll help me in the Games."

My district partner, Percy, is decidedly not as chatty as I am with the reporters. He stands close to the train doors and doesn't answer questions. As soon as we're ushered inside by our mentors, he shuffles off down the hallway to his room, leaving me alone with the mentors. Perfect.

Once the train is a significant distance from District 3, I turn to them. "So, how do they get the tributes out? Do they tell us how we're going to die beforehand so we can better fake it?" I whisper conspiratorially to them. Instead of answers, I receive twin baffled looks.

"It's okay," I try to placate them. "I know that it's not real, and the Games are just for show. You can tell me."

The two of them look at each other, as though they think I'm crazy. "Oh, kid," the woman says. "You're about to get a major reality check."

Patricia Norton, the Resourceful Optimist

District 7 Female

The one good thing about Reaping day? We get out of work early. Usually, my father, brother, and I are out in the lumberyard from sunrise until sundown. Today, we only have to work until noon. And while I appreciate the temporary alleviation from the work, the fear that replaces it isn't worth it.

It's not really fears for myself, although some of that is there. But mostly, it's for my twin brother, Jake. While we aren't desolate to the point where both of us would need to take the full amount of tesserae, we do have to rely on some. Jake insisted that he be the one to take it out, and said that having only his name in more times would be better than both of us. As such, his name is entered twelve times, whereas I only have three slips.

I'm lost in my thought when I hear the whistle, far below on the ground. While my whole family works in the lumberyards, I don't do the chopping like my brother and father do. Instead, my job is to climb to the tops of the trees that have been slated to fall down and make sure that there aren't nests of tracker jackers or other dangers that could pose a threat to us when the tree comes down. Occasionally, I'll also saw off some of the larger branches, but for the most part, my job is climbing. It's dangerous, for sure, but while I've had some close calls, I've become an expert on the branches.

The whistle, however, means that work is done for the day and if I don't get down soon, I'll be in serious trouble. The Peacekeepers here keep the District under control with an iron fist, thanks to the involvement of our District in the Mockingjay's Rebellion all those years ago. We'll hear in just a few hours how brutally our District fought, and as such, the Capitol has to be harsh with us. It's our punishment for something that hardly anyone in the District had anything to do with at this point.

I scale down the tree, my feet and hands finding holds as easily as if I were walking on the ground. In no time, I'm back with the others. I spot Jake and my father walking over and I meet them halfway.

"Find anything?" Jake whispers as we begin walking home together. I shake my head and look around to make sure none of the Peacekeepers heard him. I know that they would probably think Jake was referring to a nest or something else related to my actual job, but I've learned that we can never be too careful.

Thankfully, if they did hear, they don't think anything of Jake's statement. The three of us make it back to our modest house in relative peace, desperately trying not to think of the inevitable in just a couple hours.

After we open the door, Jake closes the curtains and I go to pull the fresh fruit I steal out of the refrigerator. Technically, if we ever got caught, we could say that the fruit was bought. But with our income, it's likely we wouldn't be believed, and the punishment for stealing is a brutal whipping for all involved. If they figured out the fruit came from the trees instead of the market, the punishment would be even worse. It's a high risk, but it's one we have to take. If I didn't steal, the tesserae would never be enough. This is another reason why Jake takes the tesserae; I do the stealing, and he takes the tesserae. We're both making the sacrifices.

Of course, my father does his share as well. While he was stuck for years in an awful depression after our mother died giving birth to Jake and I, in recent years he's seemed to put himself together. He taught both of us to forage, and as such, we've been able to add edible plants to our fruit. The foraging isn't as hard as getting the fruit, since District 7 is full of plants and bushes, but we still have to be wary of the Peacekeepers.

We sit in the dark and quickly eat our midday meal, keeping an eye on the time. It's always better to be early to the Reaping in District 7, since the Peacekeepers tend to drag kids out of their homes if they feel like it's getting too close to Reaping time. By the time Jake and I have both eaten and change from our work clothes to our slightly nicer Reaping clothes, we have about an hour to spare. It's time to head out.

"Nervous?" Jake asks as we head down and get into the line.

"Of course, but that won't change anything," I sigh. "We just have to hope for the best and pray that we're safe for another year. I don't know what it would do to Father if he were to lose one of us. He's only just beginning to heal from Mother's death."

Jake takes my hand and gives it a brief squeeze. "We'll make it through," he murmurs, but I can't help but notice that he sounds more like he's trying to reassure himself than he is me. That's understandable, since today he's in far greater danger than I am.

We get signed in, and have to go to our separate sections. I don't like it, but I won't be completely alone. I search through the crowd of the other fourteen-year-old girls and quickly find my friends Sally and Monica.

"Ready to see the escort make a fool of herself again?" Sally asks, attempting to lighten the mood. Monica and I give weak chuckles, but it's far from being enough to alleviate the worry that's continually gnawing inside my stomach. When I was younger, before I truly grasped the severity of the Hunger Games, I used to think the escort was funny with her defected accent and ludicrous clothes, but now she's just another reminder that two children will be taken to die.

Still, I try to put on a brave face. Being pessimistic about the situation isn't going to help anyone, so I try to be optimistic instead. "We'll be fine," I assure my friends. It's a promise that I know I might not be able to keep, but Sally and Monica gives murmured thanks anyway. Both of them also have siblings that they're worried about, though a couple of Monica's are over eighteen. Sally's younger sister, however, is just twelve and is probably a nervous wreck at the moment. I know I was during my first Reaping.

Soon enough, the Mayor takes the stage and begins to drone on and on about how terrible the Districts were in attempting their uprisings and overthrowing the peace the Capitol has given us all. I barely contain a scoff at his words. The Capitol apparently thinks that the starvation of most of its citizens and televising the deaths of children qualifies as peaceful. I wholeheartedly disagree, but there's nothing I can do about it, and I know that. That's just the way life is in Panem, and I learned to accept that long ago, even if I don't like it.

During the Mayor's speech, I look over to my left and my eyes meet Jake's. He lifts his hand slightly to show me his crossed fingers, and I return the gesture briefly. _We'll be fine, we'll all be fine,_ I think desperately as though thinking the words will magically make them come true. It's all I can do.

The Mayor has now reached the list of Victors. The list is short, and yet he hesitates before reading the name of our most infamous Victor, Johanna Mason. She was a key player in the Mockingjay's Rebellion, and even today sometimes we're forced to watch her bloody execution after the rebels lost. Like Finnick Odair in District 4, and of course _those two_ in District 12, no one really talks about her if they can help it. In fact, it's only on Reaping day that I ever hear her name mentioned at all.

The Mayor reads the names of the only other two Victors we've had since the Mockingjay's Rebellion, who sit on the stage with the escort. Their faces are worn down and heavy. I can't imagine what it must be like to try and keep two kids alive year after year only to watch them fall.

Finally, our escort takes the stage. She looks ridiculous as always, and attempts to try and lift the somber mood, but after a couple minutes even she can tell that it's going to be a futile effort. She sighs heavily, but I don't know why she expects anything different at this point.

She prances over to the girls' Reaping ball and as she fishes her hand around, I close my eyes and continue my mantra. _We'll be fine, we'll be fine, we'll be fine…_

"Patricia Norton!" My eyes fly open, sure that I've imagined it. But no, Sally and Monica are both choking back sobs, and as my eyes dart to my left again, Jake looks like he's been shot. The crowd is parting, and the Peacekeepers are getting restless. I've seen them drag unwilling tributes to the stage before, and it's only my strong resolve that I don't want that happening to me that pushes my feet forward to join the escort on the stage.

She asks for volunteers, but I don't kid myself into thinking that there will be any. District 7 never sees volunteers. As much as Sally and Monica care for me, they're not about to throw away their lives for me, and I don't want them to. They have their own lives to live.

I look out into the crowd again in the silence and find Jake's face. Instead of being sad, he's wearing an expression of resigned determination. While I can normally read Jake like an open book, for once I can't for the life of me figure out what he's thinking.

After the silence confirms my fate as tribute, the escort goes over to the pick the boy. She fishes around for a moment, and I fleetingly remember to hope and pray that it isn't Jake. She unfolds the slip of paper and I try to look, but the letters are too small to see properly from where I'm standing.

"Rotto Mangle!" she calls out. I recognize the name as a boy who regularly harasses the girls in school, myself included. He's a ringleader of a gang of bullies, and there's not much I hate more than bullies. Anyone who takes pleasure in harming others is the lowest scum, and if anyone deserves to be sent into the Hunger Games, it's him.

As he begins walking to the stage, I glance out at my brother again, still wearing that face of grim determination. And suddenly, I understand what it means.

Not caring that I'm on stage, I frantically shake my head at him. He catches my eye just as the escort asks for volunteers, and after he sees me, he hesitates. I keep shaking my head. He can't come into the Games with me. Having one of us go in is bad enough, and our dad doesn't need to have both of go in.

After what seems like an agonizingly long time, the moment for volunteers has finally passed and I breathe a sigh of relief that quickly gives way to fear. I'm going into the Hunger Games. And it will be a miracle if I'm ever to come out alive.

Rotto Mangle, the Compassionate Bully

District 7 Male

When I walk to the Reaping with the rest of the Goon Squad, we're given a wide berth by most of the other kids our age, especially the girls. Even a supposedly serious day like the Reaping won't stop the others from terrorizing people.

Sure enough, when there's a thirteen-year-old girl in front of us waiting to sign up, Earnest doesn't hesitate to shove her roughly to the side, causing her to fall. The others snicker at his actions, but I barely suppress a grimace. But I can't help the girl here, not with all the other guys around. The most I can do is offer a brief sympathetic look in her direction.

Of course, the Peacekeepers don't do anything to help the girl out. While they'll intervene if there are any serious fights, simple stunts like this won't get their attention. It's easy to keep rule over us if we're constantly beating each other down.

After we sign in, I'm grateful that Earnest and I leave Pine, Sika, and Spruce with the rest of the fourteen-year-old guys while we move on to the fifteen-year-old section. The only downside to this is now Earnest if focusing all his attention on me, and seeing that we're related, he can tell that there's something wrong.

"What's up with you?" he asks, then goes on without waiting for an answer. "Nervous about being Reaped? I know you had to take out a bunch of tesserae a few years ago, but it'll be fine. Or are you worried about Rita?"

I shrug, attempting to appear blasé even though I'm furious with him for his actions earlier. "Just worried about Rita," I say. While it's not the full truth, it's not a total lie either. My younger sister Rita just turned twelve this year, and as such, it's her first Reaping. She's as safe as you can get, only having one slip, but anything can happen.

"Man, you're lucky I'm more understanding than the other guys," Earnest says, shaking his head. "They wouldn't like it if they knew you were such a softy for your baby sister." He punches my arm lightly, but I can feel the warning under it. Earnest would be less than pleased if I made him look bad in front of the others in the Goon Squad.

"Yeah, well, that's why I don't show it in front of them," I grumble. I'm almost glad when the Mayor stands up to the microphone to begin his speech so Earnest has to shut up.

It's not as though I don't care about Earnest. He's my cousin, and been my best friend since we were born. But ever since he insisted we join the Goon Squad to appear cool to the others at school, he's gotten under my skin. I never wanted to join in the first place, but he wouldn't stop pestering me so eventually I gave in. I've regretted it ever since.

But I don't leave the group. I could, I just… never have. I'm too scared. Too scared that they'll make me their next target, and while I'm strong, I could never fight off all four of them at the same time. Being part of the Goon Squad gives me a certain level of protection, and I'm far too selfish to risk losing that protection just now.

I hope someday I can gather up enough courage to leave. But if I haven't done it yet, I don't know if I can ever actually go through with it.

Almost unconsciously, I glance over to the girls' section. Almost immediately, my eyes fall on Bay. My heart gives a painful tug as it always does whenever I see her. She's the main reason I want to leave. In fact, in the past months when she and I have been alone while she's tutoring me with math, she's been nothing but encouraging. She easily could have hated me because the Goon Squad loves picking on her because she's intelligent. But she said that she saw how I almost always never seemed to actually enjoy it and that she thought there might be hope for me.

She has more faith in me than I do in myself, but I have tried to be a little better, for her sake. If I'm not around the others, I've started to apologize to the girls. Some accept, but others… well, I'm too little, too late with them.

All too soon, the escort begins her part and grabs a slip with the girl tribute's name on it. I try and keep a neutral expression, but all I can think about is that I hope it's not Rita or Bay…

"Patricia Norton!" the escort calls out, and for a moment I feel a deep sense of relief. But I do recognize the name. Patricia Norton used to be a target of the Goon Squad, until she and her brother left school for the most part to work all day. Earnest gives an almost inaudible scoff beside me as Patricia walks to the stage, fear clear and easy to read in her face.

The escort asks for volunteers and she's met with the predictable silence. No one ever volunteers here in District 7. We're not exactly a District that's known for Victors, and we're certainly not trained like the Career Districts. A spot in the Hunger Games is synonymous with a death sentence out here.

After confirming that there are no volunteers, the escort heads over to the males' Reaping ball. Now, the only person I worry about is myself. Sure, I'd be sad if Earnest was Reaped, or even the other members of the Goon Squad, but better them than me.

"Rotto Mangle!" the escort calls out, and with those two words, it's like all my nightmares have come true. But I can't show how scared I am. There are cameras watching, and I don't want the Careers to think that I'm some easy target. But more than that, I don't want the last moments the Goon Squad sees of me to be the actions of a coward.

I trudge up to the stage. I don't notice much, but Patricia is shaking her head furiously about something. I can't tell what. I mount the stage and turn to look at the rest of the District as the escort calls for volunteers. I don't hold my breath for any. I know none of the Goon Squad would volunteer for me, just as I would never do for them.

Sure enough, the escort is met with more silence, just as she was with Patricia. She reminds Panem of our names, then asks us to shake hands. I attempt to give Patricia a small smile, but she's looking at me with nothing short of seething loathing. She clearly hasn't forgiven me for my part in the Goon Squad, and I doubt any apology I could give her would make any difference to her. I'm guessing a District alliance is out of the question.

I'm led back into the Justice Building, where I'm supposed to say goodbye to people. I know the Goon Squad will show up to this, at least, but I hope I get to at least see my family first. I don't have to pretend to be tough and confident in front of them.

Luckily, I get that one small blessing. My parents and Rita are the first to file into the room, and all three of them have clearly been crying. Rita still has tears streaming down her face as she throws her arms around my neck.

"Rotto, can you please try and come home?" she wails. "You're big and strong, you can make it!"

I don't think I have any shot of returning, but I can't tell her that. "I'll do my best," I promise her and my parents. "I'll see what I can do, but I promise that I'll try and come home to all of you." Rita just wails harder, and by now my parents are both crying silently as well. I know they think this is the last time they'll ever seen me alive.

My parents join in on my hug with Rita, and we stay like that until the Peacekeepers come to escort them out. I'm shaking, but at least I've managed not to cry yet. This is a good thing, since I know the Goon Squad will be coming in next.

Sure enough, Earnest leads the rest of the gang into the room a moment later. For once, they aren't loud and boisterous, but somber. I didn't expect them to miss me much, but maybe I was wrong on that account.

Earnest is the first to speak. "We've been talking, about the best thing you could do," he starts. "We think the best thing to do is to get into the Career pack. That way you should have enough access to water and food and stuff. Then when it gets far enough, you can kill them in their sleep. That might be enough to take you all the way."

I nod at him. It's actually not a bad plan. "I'll do that," I tell them. "And… I'll make sure to do you guys proud. I'll represent the Goon Squad to Panem in the Games." Earnest swallows heavily, then claps me on the back.

"Then this isn't goodbye. You'll do us good, I know you will," he murmurs. This might be the most emotion I've ever seen from him. He looks genuinely torn up about me going in.

Spruce pipes up next. "We thought you might want a bit of us to remember in the arena, so we grabbed the girls' hair ribbons. Want one?" he offers, holding a myriad of ribbons in his hand. When the Goon Squad targets a girl, they all love taking trophies and hair ribbons are easy ones. I quickly spot a royal blue one that I knew used to belong to Bay.

"That one," I say, grabbing it from his hand and tying it around my wrist. Spruce nods, then they all clap me on the shoulder again before filing out. Earnest is the last to leave, and he turns around before doing so. He opens his mouth for a moment, but then closes it again before leaving for good.

I'm not expecting any other visitors, so I'm surprised when the door opens again. My mouth falls open when I see Bay standing there. "You… you came to say goodbye?" I ask incredulously. Though we'd become friendlier after she started tutoring me, I never thought she cared enough about me to visit me.

"Rotto," she begins, taking a seat next to me. "I know you're a good person. I just wanted to tell you, before you left, that I notice how you've been helping people and apologizing. And I wanted to thank you for it. You've proved to us, and to yourself, that you can change. I hope you remember that you can be compassionate in the arena." She stops talking as she notices the hair ribbon around my wrist. "Is that mine?" she asks.

I feel myself flush scarlet. "Um… the guys offered it to me. You can have it back if you want," I mumble, not able to meet her eyes.

"No, you can keep it," she says, and I finally gather the courage to look in her eyes. I've been enamored with her for so long, but my cowardice has kept me from being the person she wants me to be. But she's noticed me changing! The small steps I've taken have been for her, and she noticed.

Before I can think myself out of it, I lunge forward and press my lips to hers for a moment. "I'll try and make it back," I whisper to her. She's surprised, I can tell, but she's smiling too. Before she can say anything else, though, the Peacekeepers leave and take her out. I'm left with one final image of her looking back at me.

Now, I feel more determined than ever to make it back. Between my family's tears and Bay's observations, I have to come back to show everyone that they were wrong about me. I can be a good person. I just have to live long enough to prove it.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I hope that you liked the chapter! Just Districts 6 and 12 to go, and then we'll be done with the Reaping's and we'll head into the Capitol. I'm really excited to get into the Games, I have a lot of surprises for you all. Please, please, please review, it really motivates me to do my best and get the next chapter out. I hope to see you again with the next chapter!**

**~TT**


	7. Reapings: Districts 6 and 12

**A/N: Well, here we are, at the last of the Reapings! The holidays are over and I've finally recovered enough from Rise of Skywalker to finish up, and I hope you like them. That's gonna be all from me up here, but I promise I will have much more to say when we reach the bottom, so I will see you there!**

* * *

Aspen Flatt, the Innocent Sweetheart

District 6 Female

When I wake in the morning, the first thing I see is my older sister Maria sitting on my bed, gently shaking my shoulder. I sit up and begin to rub my eyes while Maria goes over to my closet to pick out something for me to wear. "Wh-what time is it?" I manage to get out through a yawn.

"Not yet noon, but it's getting close," she murmurs. "I wanted to let you sleep in, but now that Danny left the house I figured it was as good a time as any to wake you up."

I frown a bit when she mentions Danny. He's the only person I know that I truly dislike, and the worst part is that he's my twin. I've desperately tried to be friends with him, but he doesn't seem interested. He's never seemed to want much to do with anyone in our family, and to drive that point home, he's been leaving the house frequently and doesn't come back until late into the night.

I wish I could get him to talk to me, let me try to help him. But I've learned over the years that if I attempted to talk to him, he would, at best, ignore me or, at worst, punch me. Maria is frowning as well, and I know it hurts her just as much to think about what our brother's getting into. But all we can do is hope that someday he'll come back to us.

Hope. I've always believed in its power, and today is a day that I need to hope more than any other. It's Reaping day, and I have to hope that Maria, my friends, and I will all be alright. I would never even want Danny to go into the Games. It's just a fools' hope, since I know very well that someone will be selected for the Games, and that person will most likely never come home. Whoever it is, whether I know them or not, I will hate watching them die. But the Games are inevitable.

So yes, my hope is just a fools' hope. But it's all I have.

"What are our plans for the day?" I ask Maria, trying to get my mind both off of Danny and the Reaping later today.

"I think Mom and Dad were going to have a couple families over tonight, have some sort of a celebration," she responds lightly, but her words send my spirits soaring. We've never exactly been in danger of starving to death, but we're not rich either. We get by mostly on Maria's tesserae and being smart with our money. Our parents taught us all from an early age how to budget.

"Good. I'm looking forward to it," I smile. Maria returns the smile, but there is tightness behind her eyes, betraying the fears that she doesn't dare to say aloud. We'll celebrate, but only if the unthinkable doesn't happen. And at the age of seventeen, after taking out 5 tesserae for 6 years, Maria's name is in that pot 36 times. Even though there are countless slips, the odds are certainly not in Maria's favor.

I'm far safer. Maria wouldn't let me take out the full amount of tesserae, but I've had to take one each year to help. We asked Danny to do the same, but he flat out refused. That might have been the last conversation I had with my brother. I'd known for years that he was selfish, but I truly didn't think he was so self-absorbed that he'd be willing to let us all starve just to limit his chances of going into the Hunger Games.

His cruelty has shaped me into who I am today. When I first learned how bad he could get, I vowed to myself that I would never let that happen to me, and I would never contribute to how unfair this world can be. I've done my best to be kind to everyone I meet, because for all I know, me showing them an act of kindness might be the only one they see that day.

Maria sets out a blouse and skirt for me to wear, and I change into the outfit quickly. The clothing is faded, since it was Maria's before mine, but it's still in fairly decent shape. That's the rule about clothing in this house: we re-wear everything until it's threadbare. Wasting is absolutely not allowed.

"Come on. We better eat quickly or else we won't have time to get to the square," Maria urges right after I've shrugged the blouse over my head. I leave my hair as is—my dreadlocks, now that they're in place, require minimal work.

My parents are still in the kitchen when we arrive, and they hand out bits of toast with a very thin layer of butter. The butter is a luxury we only rarely enjoy, but like most families, they try to give us something nice on Reaping day.

After Maria and I have scrambled down our breakfasts, the sun is high in the sky, and it's time to go to the Reaping. I'll meet some friends down in the square when I sign in, but I want to savor every moment with my family as I possibly can.

It takes a fair while to walk to the square. It's in the center of District 6, and the richer families live closest to it. By time we reach the square, signing in for the Reaping is in full swing. The teenagers are busy checking in, and the adults are skirting the edges, trying to find a good spot to watch.

My parents give both Maria and I hugs, and though their faces are lined with worry, they manage not to cry. It'll be a few years before all of us are finally safe from the Reaping, and in that time, who knows what could happen?

But I mustn't think negatively about the situation. I have to believe that we'll be alright. I have to keep a smile on my face, and encourage Maria and my friends to do the same. Worrying won't make the Reaping any easier; in fact, it'll just make the hardest day of the year worse than it already is. We're weighed down by enough sorrow here in District 6. I don't want anyone to suffer more than they already have.

When Maria and I are both finally checked in, we're forced into our separate age dividers. I manage to give her one last smile before I slip into the thirteen-year-old girls' section where I do my best to find Fora, one of my best friends. She's easy enough to locate, and I grasp her hand tightly in mine when I find her.

"Nervous?" she asks. I shrug my shoulders a bit.

"I'm trying not to be," I answer with as much geniality as I can manage. "It won't make this any better. How about you?" She shrugs back.

"Statistically, we've got a very low percentage of being Reaped," she says slowly. I know she's trying to make us both feel better, but an unspoken truth hangs in the air between us. We both have older siblings who've had to take out far more tesserae than either of us have. "But," she adds, "it has to be someone. I don't know if odds matter much in this case." She's right about that. The official slogan for the Games is, of course, "May the odds be ever in your favor." But the odds aren't really in anyone's favor in Panem except those lucky enough to be born in lap of luxury in the Capitol.

I sneak a look over to my left, where the thirteen-year-old boys stand. I find Danny right away. Even though we're obviously not identical, he does look a lot like me; we have the same dark skin and dreadlocks. But where I'm always trying to smile, I haven't seen him smile in years. Even now, he's standing with a group of his rough friends, and they're jeering at a small boy who's pale in the face and clearly terrified of the Reaping. My blood boils. I want nothing more than to help the poor boy that my brother and his friends are tormenting, but I know that I'm not allowed in another section. The Peacekeepers keep a close eye on all of us, guns at the ready. I don't know what the punishment is for causing a scene at the Reaping, and I don't want to find out. All the same, my heart goes out to the boy and I'm almost trembling with the effort it's taking not to try and help.

Fora puts her hand on my shoulder when she notices. "Easy," she reminds me. "The escort is on the stage now. It won't be long before the Mayor begins his speech and then they'll have to stop," she tries to soothe. I know she's right, but that doesn't mean I like it. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to turn towards the front again.

True to Fora's words, the Mayor does step up to the microphone in a matter of minutes. The square, even Danny and his rowdy friends, are forced into silence as we once again hear about how the Districts fought against the Capitol and failed, twice. We listen to how being allowed to live in Panem is a privilege, and about how sending just 23 children to die every year is a far greater fate than we deserve when the Capitol could have wiped us all out during the Rebellions, but decided to show mercy instead.

Personally, I just think that the Capitol only let the Districts continue because they didn't want to do the work the Districts provide, but I'd never voice these thoughts out loud. While I wholeheartedly disagree with the Capitol, I'm not an outspoken dissenter. Those select few have always been killed, without fail. I have no interest in being killed.

As the Mayor finishes his speech, the escort takes the stage. I clutch at Fora's hand even harder now, praying that the unthinkable won't happen. It's likely that I'll know whoever is Reaped, but, selfishly, I'd rather it be anyone but Maria, Fora, or myself.

After making a couple of unsuccessful jokes, the escort steps up to the first Reaping ball. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping against all hopes that my family, friends, and I will be safe….

"Aspen Flatt!" I hear a perky voice call out, and all at once I'm frozen with fear. Statistically, I should have been fine, but just like Fora said, it had to be someone. But that someone was me.

As I walk up to the stage, I can't fight the tears that fall from my face. I know that I'm going to appear weak to the other tributes, but I can't help it. I'm not ready to die yet, and I'm certainly not going to be able to take another's life once I get into that arena. That's a truth that I already know about myself.

As I stand up on the stage, I think again how selfish it was that I wished for someone else to take my place. Everyone who is Reaped is someone's daughter or son, someone's sister or brother, someone's best friend. The Games are ruthless, and each one ruins the lives of 24 families throughout the country.

Maybe that's the one good thing that will come of my being sent to my death. I've spared the other families in my district one more year of pain. My only regret now is that my own family, the people I care about more than anything in the world, will be the ones in mourning this year.

Malik Hudson, the Vicious Misogynist

District 6 Male

As the little girl walks up to the stage, I don't even bother to try and hide the sneer that curls my lips. She's weak and frail, and she'll be out on the bloodbath for sure. I don't know why the Capitol even bothers to send girls into the Hunger Games in the first place. They're weak and can never measure up to their male counterparts. If they really wanted the Games to be a spectacle, they'd take out the weapons and let the men fight in a brawl to the death. That would be more entertaining to me, in any case.

Of course, I don't have any say in the Games, being from District 6 instead of the Capitol. Even though the Capitol technically has it better than I do in a District, I can't really complain about my life here. I've built up a reputation as someone to be feared, and my dad gives me everything I could want. I don't have to put up with my mother; she knows her place is beneath my father and I.

The escort asks for volunteers, and of course there are none. There rarely ever are in District 6. Even I would never volunteer, even though I know I'd do well in the Games. I didn't get to be feared like I am without being able to back my claims up. Those who want to challenge me end up horribly injured. I've never lost a fight yet.

After a moment, the escort prances over to the male's Reaping ball. I'm watching with greater interest now. Hopefully, we get a real man this year, instead of some weakling who gets himself killed early on. At least we won't get anyone worse than that girl they already picked.

"Malik Hudson!" the escort chirps, and for a moment I'm stunned into silence. It's only for a moment, however. I remember that I am now being broadcast to all of Panem. I cannot show fear.

As I shuffle up to the stage, my initial fear begins to dissipate. Why should I worry? I've been in hundreds of fights, and I've always managed to come out on top. Most of the tributes will be as weak as the little girl already on the stage. The only tributes I would have to worry about are the males from 1, 2, and 4. The females might be trained, but I'm a man. They won't pose any challenge for me.

By the time I reach the stage, I'm grinning. I can tell that the escort is caught off guard, but she seems pleased to have a tribute who already has such high chances in these Games. Before she can ask for volunteers, I grab the microphone from her.

"I'm Malik Hudson, and I'm going to be the Victor of these Games," I say, baring my teeth just slightly. I want them to remember me in the Capitol. I won't be counted out just because I don't come from a Career district.

The escort is attempting to take the microphone from my hands, and I shoot her a disdainful look. I hold onto the instrument and tug slightly before letting it go, and I enjoy watching her stumble a bit before she manages to regain her balance. She might be from the Capitol, but I have more authority than she does, even if she doesn't recognize that yet. She will once I'm crowned the Victor.

"Well, we seem to have a very confident tribute this year," she says once she gets herself under control. "District 6, please give it up for your tributes, Malik Hudson and Aspen Flatt!" The crowd gives half-hearted cheers, but that's normal for District 6. They haven't had anyone to be excited about in a long time. I plan to change that.

I turn towards the girl, and I tower over her. I don't bother trying to hide my sneer at her. When the escort asks us to shake hands, I grip her fingers tighter than necessary, and I see her wince. I smirk to myself before I let go. She'll definitely be out in the bloodbath, and I won't hesitate to kill her myself if I get the opportunity.

I stride into the Justice Building, not bothering to acknowledge the Peacekeepers. I think they can tell that I'm not going to run away or anything stupid like that, because they don't attempt to restrain me or anything. They're part of the crowd that sees the Games as entertainment, so I have no doubt they'll start rooting for me once the Games begin. I'll have all of Panem rooting for me soon enough.

My first visitor is my father, and I barely notice my mother slip in behind him. My father has a broad grin on his face.

"That's my boy!" he exclaims, giving me a light punch on the arm. I can smell alcohol on his breath, but that's nothing surprising. He probably tossed a couple back to celebrate, and I'll make sure to do the same once I'm out of here and on the train. "You're giving people here a chance to root for someone for once, and you'll do me proud," he continues, slurring his words just slightly.

"Hell yeah, I will," I grin back. I have no doubt that I'm going to be okay. The only tributes that worry me are the males from the career districts, but I already have a plan about how to get rid of them. As long as I can make sure they don't have any weapons, I can beat anyone in a good, old-fashioned fist fight.

My mother peeks around my father's shoulders. "A-are you sure you'll be okay?" she whispers. "I don't want to lose you like I did my sister—"

"I said, he'll be fine," my father hisses suddenly. "Do you think I'm wrong?" He raises his hand in a warning and my mother flinches. I scowl at her. She usually knows that she's meant to keep her mouth shut, and I hate it when she tries to speak out of line. My father knows what's best.

"I'll be more than fine, I'm going to be the best Victor Panem has ever seen," I boast, not to comfort my mother, but to assure my father that his trust in me is not misplaced.

My father and I trade my praises back and forth for a couple more minutes, while my mother thankfully doesn't use her voice anymore, but before long they're escorted out. I won't miss them. I'll see my father again, and the only use my mother has is cooking and cleaning up after me. My father made sure to teach me that because I'm a man, I should never be expected to do household chores; that's a woman's job. And when I come back, I'll have my pick of women bending over backwards to do everything they can for me.

After my parents leave, my crew joins me. The four of us, led be myself of course, have showed the District that we're not to be taken lightly. Now, my chance to break away from them and make myself known all throughout Panem has come. I'm more than ready for it.

"Man this is gonna be awesome!" Finlay, my right-hand man, exclaims. The other two just grin at his words. They're not much for talking, but they make good meat shields whenever I need them to be.

"Finally, an excuse to break out of this sorry district and get when I deserve," I muse. The other three shut up while I'm speaking. "I'll be known throughout Panem. I'll be the best Victor the country has seen in years. And by time I'm out of the arena, no one will ever be able to forget my name!"

The guys let out boisterous cheers at my words. I take it in, soaking in a bit of the glory. I could definitely get used to this. The people from the Capitol aren't bright, but they do like confidence. As long as I keep talking myself up, they'll like me, and I'll be sure to bring in some wealthy sponsors.

I raise my hand to get them to quiet down. "All I've got to do is get in with the Careers. I'll challenge whatever guy is the strongest and once he's out of the way, they rest of them will follow me. It'll be smooth sailing after that." My plan is simple, but foolproof. I can't see these Games turning out in any way other than my favor.

"Finlay!" I bark. He immediately looks up. "See if you can't steal enough to send me something in the arena," I order. "I'll be taking control of the cornucopia, so I should be alright, but just in case something comes up and I need some emergency food or something, set up a backup fund for me. I don't want any surprises."

"You got it boss," Finlay salutes, and after that, the Peacekeepers come. The guys all give me one last round of support, and all of them tell me that they can't wait for me to come home in glory.

I don't have any other visitors, but I'm not surprised. I really don't have other friends per say, but that suits me just fine. I'd much rather be feared than liked. They'll like me well enough in the Capitol. They always fall for the confident ones.

At the train station, I barely take notice of the girl. She's a non-entity to me. Instead, I spend most of my time with the journalists, reiterating to them how they would be foolish to count me out just because I don't come from a Career district. I tell them over and over again that I'm going to be the winner of these Games, and all of them are eating my words up.

After some talk with the reporters, our mentors and escort join us on the platform, ushering us into the train. The girl immediately darts in, but I wave as I board, giving the cameras one last look at my face. I'm making a strong impression, I'm sure of it.

As the train departs the station, I don't waste time looking back at District 6. I'll be there again. I'm be coming back, and I'll be coming back as Panem's champion.

Jake Conway, the Grim Volunteer

District 12 Male

There is a somber air over District 12. Why wouldn't there be? It's Reaping day after all. It's the darkest day of the year.

The Hunger Games are a death sentence out here. Because of the Mockingjay's Rebellion, they probably always will be. District 12 wasn't the first to begin rebelling the second time around, but because the Mockingjay herself hailed from here, the Capitol decided to try and rein her in by wiping out her entire district. It hadn't worked, but she failed. And because of that, everyone here is left to suffer.

I learned from a very early age that life isn't fair. It's cruel and demanding, and every year more and more of us die. Occasionally, when our numbers dwindle too far, we'll get imports of criminals from other districts to work in the mines. But death in District 12 is all too common of an occurrence.

That was something else I learned at a young age: death was inevitable, and it didn't care who it took. Young or old, male or female, it didn't care. Death takes indiscriminately, and all too often, death is completely out of our control.

Not for me though. If I must die, then I will choose my own way of going. I don't want to sit here and suffer in District 12, waiting for a day that will come sooner rather than later. There's no reason for me to stick around. So why not sign up for the Hunger Games?

Dying in the Games should, at the very least, be quicker and less painful than starving to death or burning alive in the mines. Technically, I could go out any number of ways in the arena, but the initial bloodbath is always quick and dirty. It might be humiliating, having the whole country watch as you're killed, but who cares? You're already dead at that point.

So, as I begin my day, I have my mind made up. I'm going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. And I don't have any intention of making it out alive.

I haven't mentioned my plans to anyone, though it's not like I have a lot of people I'd talk to about it anyway. For as long as I could remember, it's always been just myself and my mother. My father, when I was only three years old, was the first taste I'd gotten of just how unfair death could be. He was a young, fit man, but he died in the mines all the same. And I don't have many good friends other than Auburn, who lives next door to me. I've known him all my life, and his mother and mine are also best friends.

There are more people that I'm friendly with, especially around the Seam, but there's no one besides my mother and Auburn who would miss me too much. That was a deliberate move on my part. I purposefully distanced myself from people when I made the decision to volunteer for the Games. I want to minimize the damage as much as possible.

I do feel bad about leaving my mother by herself, but she'll have Auburn's family to help her through. And she'll know better than to fool herself into thinking that I could win. People from District 12, even those that try, never win.

As I'm putting on the nicest clothes I own (which still aren't anything special, but at least my mother managed to patch up the holes), I hear the door open and close. I'm sure that it's Auburn coming over, and when my door opens moment later, my hunch proves to be right. I swallow heavily when I see him. These are some of the last few moments that we'll ever spend with each other.

"Hey man," Auburn greets, unaware that anything is out of the ordinary. He's quiet, but he always is on Reaping day. Everyone has a chance of going in to die. But even though he doesn't know it, he'll be safe today.

I guess that does make me a little happy. No boy in the District has to worry today. I've guaranteed the safety of each of them for one more year, and for the eighteen-year-olds, I've ensured that they will never have to worry about the Hunger Games ever again. I can't extend the same assurance to the girls, but it's still something I can be proud of, even if it's just a little bit.

Downstairs, my mother has prepared something to eat. It's not fancy, but when we so often go to sleep with hungry bellies in the Seam, even this bit of fresh bread and cheese seems like a feast to me. I'm sure that this is nothing compared to the meals that will be served during my short time in the Capitol, but this means more to me than the fanciest cakes they could serve me. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with nostalgia.

District 12 has been all I've ever known. And after today, I'll never see it again. Though my death will be hopefully quick and painless, I'll be dying away from my home, away from the only ones that have every really cared about me. No one in the Capitol is likely to even remember my name. To them, all I will be a couple seconds of entertainment, and then I'll be forgotten, as if I never existed in the first place.

For the first time, I start questioning my choice to die in the arena. Is it really better to die this way, away from everyone? Yes, this way gives me some control over my own demise, but it will ensure that I am utterly alone when I do go.

_Everyone is alone when they die_, I tell myself firmly. I can't afford to second guess myself now. I've made my choice, and I will stick to it.

I just underestimated how hard these last moments would be.

As I eat, I surreptitiously glance around my house. It's never been big, but I want to commit it to memory. I will never be here again. Auburn gazes at me slightly suspiciously, but thankfully, he doesn't say anything. I don't know if I could flat out lie to him if he questioned what I was doing.

I want to linger, but my mother hugs us both as soon as we've finished eating and sends us on our way. She's biting her lip nervously, but she tells us that we ought to go sign in, and promises to see us after the Reaping. "Your mother invited us over afterwards, so we'll have a nice evening," she tells Auburn, wearing a thin smile. I shift guiltily. She's making this so much harder than I ever thought it would be.

Auburn and I make our way to the square underneath a light drizzle of rain. The soot from the coal mines sticks to the bottom of our shoes as we make our way from the Seam into the center of town. It's cleaner here, but I'm much happier living in the Seam. At least there we can look out of our front doors and not see the stocks and whipping posts on full display.

As we line up to sign in, I turn to Auburn. I know the right thing to do is tell him what I plan on doing. But when he looks up at me, the words stick in my throat. I swallow once, and I find my throat is completely dry. "Hey, man," I start.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyebrow cocked, his eyes questioning. I can't do it. I just can't tell him.

"Good luck today," I say quietly as the Peacekeepers prick our fingers to register us.

"You too," he says, still looking confused, but says nothing as we move along to join the other fifteen-year-old boys. I stare down at my shoes. Bile is rising up from my stomach. I think I might be sick.

I don't pay much attention until the Mayor stands to begin his speech. He's somber, and reminds us that our District was the one who rebelled against the Capitol, and that we deserve to be blown to rubble, just like District 13 was. Instead, the Capitol spared District 12 and showed us mercy. It's easy to tell from the look on his face that he doesn't believe any of the words he's saying.

Things get uncomfortable, as they do every year, when it comes time to read the list of previous Victors. He swallows heavily after Haymitch Abernathy's name is read, then whispers the names of the most infamous Victors in Panem into the microphone. "Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen."

It's only on Reaping day that Peeta Mellark and especially Katniss Everdeen are ever mentioned by name. No one wants to give the Peacekeepers a reason to think we sympathize with them. Their Games are never shown on the television. I'd be willing to bet that they cut this part out of the feed to the Capitol. Their names are the biggest taboo in Panem.

After the Mockingjay's Rebellion, we have only had a single Victor. Larkspur Ashe sits next to the escort, her face downcast. She won a few years ago, and I remember watching her Games. During her Games she was smart, vivacious, and even in the worst circumstances, she was always smiling. Now, she's completely worn down, and looks several years older than she is. I hope that she gives all her attention to the female tribute this year instead of wasting her time on me.

After the tense beginning, the escort stands and attempts to relieve some of the tension in the air, but everyone knows she's unenthusiastic about her position. I've heard rumors that it's considered a punishment in the Capitol to be assigned as the escort or stylist of District 12, and you have to really do something special to be lifted from the position. Nevertheless, she gets on with the Reaping instead of trying to draw it out too long.

She digs around the female's Reaping ball for a bit before she decides on a slip. "Liza Mannings!" she calls out, and a girl from my grade slowly makes her way to the stage on shaky legs. I wish that I could save her as well, but I know I can't.

As the escort makes her way over to the males' ball, my hands clench into fists at my side. I've been planning on this for months, but now that the moment is finally here, will I have the nerve to actually go through with it?

"Cranston Tam!" she announces, and immediately cries are heard. A small, sobbing twelve-year-old shuffles up to the stage, and his face has already lost hope. I can't let this kid go into the Games. Twelve is too young.

"I-I volunteer!" I manage to stutter out when the escort half-heartedly asks for them. The whole square is flabbergasted, including Auburn next to me. I can't look at him. I focus on nothing but the stage as I make my way up.

"And who are you?" the escort asks as I reach her.

"Jake Conway," I mutter, trying not to look out into the crowd. But it's no good. As the escort tries to recover from the surprise I've given her, my eyes find my mother. And she's clutching Auburn's mother, desperately sobbing her eyes out.

What have I just done?

Liza Mannings, the Guarded Oddball

District 12 Female

Even though there are hundreds of people around me, I stand alone. This is nothing new to me; I'm always alone. I prefer it this way. The less people that are around, the less likely it is to be hurt by others.

The only one I need in my life is my father. It's always been just the two of us against the world, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I guess if I had to change something, I would wish for my mother to still be alive, but I never got to know her. Therefore, I never had a chance to miss her when she was gone. She was never an entity in my life.

I tend to think about these things a lot when I'm in school and not with my father. It's rare to be out of his company, but I'm at the Reaping. He can't follow me into the square and is left to stand on the outskirts, hoping that I'll be okay.

No one is ever okay at the Reaping though. The Hunger Games are cruel and sadistic, designed to rip children away from their parents the way my mother was ripped from my life. I wish something could be done about it, but I'm from District 12. We learn about the futility of the Mockingjay's Rebellion from an early age here, and no one has fooled themselves into thinking that we could survive yet another rebellion.

So instead, we're treated like cattle, with two selected every year to provide some cheap entertainment for the Capitol. If we're lucky, we get to live the rest of our lives in the mines, poisoning our lungs with the coal dust and hoping not to get blown to bits. It's not a real life.

I don't pay much attention to the Mayor's speech, choosing instead to focus on my own thoughts. I've already heard the Capitol drivel he spouts out. It never changes through the years. Idly, my mind wanders again to a new subject: if I survive through this Reaping, I'll have made it through over half of my chances to be plucked from District 12 and thrown into the Games.

But of course, anything can happen. Though I'm from the Seam, I'm not as unlucky as most who live there. Even though we're never really full, my father has never let me take tesserae out. My chances could be worse, but no one is safe. I've been trying all morning to prepare myself in case I do get Reaped.

"Liza Mannings!" Slightly perturbed, I look around for whoever called my name. I don't recognize the voice, but that's not surprising. I barely know the names of the others in my class, much less able to recognize their voices. Oddly enough, the crowd is parting around me, looking at me with something like pity in their eyes.

Oh. It must have been the escort who called my name. I look toward the stage, and find her staring expectantly towards me. She can't know who I am, but no doubt she recognizes the familiar sight of a crowd parting around the unlucky tribute.

I almost refuse to walk up. I don't want the Capitol to think that I'll blindly go along with their Games, but when I see the Peacekeepers getting restless, I force my feet to move. It would be better to walk up on my own and retain some of my dignity than have the Peacekeepers push me forward. I get to the stage and look out at the rest of my District. And I am numb.

For as much as I tried to tell myself that this was a possibility, can anyone truly prepare for being handed their own death warrant? I don't kid myself into thinking I can win the Games. That doesn't happen in District 12. In fact, when I've watched past Games, any District 12 person that makes it into the Top 8 is usually killed by some event designed by the Gamemakers. They want to continue to punish District 12 for the Mockingjay's Rebellion, and so far they're doing their job quite well.

We only have one Victor, and I guess the Capitol let her live so that technically, the tributes could have a chance by getting a mentor. But when I glance at her expressionless face, I can't imagine that Larkspur Ashe will be very useful to me. She seems to have already given up.

"Shake hands dears," the escort is saying, startling me again. I hadn't even realized that my district partner had already been Reaped. I look at the boy to my left. His dark skin and reddish hair look vaguely familiar to me, but I can't place a name to him. I think he might be my age, and I think he's from the Seam, but that's all I know about him.

For some reason, everyone looks on edge. I don't know why. To me, everything has gone as it usually does. He holds his hand out to me, and after a moment, I shake it briefly, letting go as quickly as I can. He tries to give me a small smile, but I don't return it. I know that he's plotting my death even as we stand here. Why wouldn't he be? I'm an obstacle to him coming home. Every other tribute in that arena is my enemy, including him.

After our handshake, the Peacekeepers come over, preparing to push us into the Justice Building. That's one thing I will not allow. I don't want their hands anywhere near me. I manage to dart around one attempting to grab my arm and lead me into the Justice Building. I duck into the room myself. I can't see their expressions beneath their helmets, but I can't imagine they're happy with me. But I suppose they decide to let it go, because two of them station themselves outside my door and close it. I sit in the room, preparing for who I'm sure will be my only visitor.

Sure enough, my father enters the room moments later. He throws his arms around me, and I immediately reciprocate the gesture. With him here with me, I finally allow one sob to escape. How am I supposed to go on without him? How will he survive without me?

"You-you know what you must do, right Liza?" he asks as he pulls back slightly, but doesn't fully release me. I nod my head. We've had this conversation a couple of times just in case the worst did come to pass.

"I can't trust anyone," I whisper. "Everyone in that arena will be trying to kill me. I'll learn what I can about survival while I'm there. And I'll hide. They can't kill me if they can't catch me."

He nods. "Exactly. We… we can't do anything if they decide to send something your way, but with any luck, the Games will be interesting enough for them that they won't feel the need to do that. You're entering at a disadvantage already, coming from District 12. But they let Larkspur win a few years ago. They might be letting up on their rule of not allowing winners from District 12." His face grows dark as he's speaking. "Of course, that boy didn't do you any favors," he growls.

I cock my head at him. "What do you mean? What did he do?" I question. "I noticed people were acting weird after he was Reaped but I didn't understand why."

"Oh Liza, you were off in your own world again, weren't you?" he asks. I just nod my head and he sighs. "He wasn't Reaped. He volunteered. No one knows why; we don't think he had a relation to the boy that was Reaped. But it's got everyone nervous, because the last volunteer from District Twelve… well, you know how that turned out." I nod my head, because even I can't miss that reference. The last time we had a volunteer from District 12, we were almost blown off the map entirely.

My father continues. "But, hopefully that means he'll be more of a target than you are. If we can get them to ignore you, at least for a little while, that'll be the best thing for you." His eyes get misty again as he pulls me into another hug. "I can't lose you," he moans piteously. "I already lost your mother, I can't lose you too."

"I'll do my best to come back," I promise. "I don't know what I can do against the Capitol, but I'll do everything I can. I won't trust those other tributes. I won't end up with a knife in my back. That's all I can control. But I'll never give up. I promise."

The door opens then, and my father is ripped from my arms. The Peacekeepers are dragging him away, and I want to rake my nails down their faces. I try to jump out after him, but the door is slammed in my face and when I try the knob, I find that the door is locked. Of course it is.

I was right when I suspected that my father would be my only visitor. I'm left in solitude, no noise except the muffled cries that are coming from next door. I don't understand these cries. If the boy was a volunteer like my father said, why is his family crying? Weren't they prepared for his actions?

I shouldn't waste time trying to understand my opponent, because from here on out, I can't see hm as a fellow human. He's in the way of me seeing my father again, and he'll kill me if he gets the chance. Maybe even these tears are faked to psyche me out. But I won't let him fool me. The only way I would ally with him is if I could have no qualms stabbing him the back later. But even that seems unlikely for me. I would never be able to sleep with someone else around.

I jump when the door opens again, but I'm greeted by nothing except the sight of the Peacekeepers blank masks. I duck around their arms again, and this this they don't bother to try and touch me, but they do form a wall around me as they lead me to the station. I can see the boy a few paces ahead of me, but I can't see his expression. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking.

At the station, I'm suddenly surrounded by reporters. One of them manages to plant herself right in front of me.

"Liza, what do you think of your chances in the Games this year, without having seen the other tributes?" she asks me, shoving a microphone into my face. I stare at her with unblinking eyes.

"I know how these Games work," I say slowly. "I'm a cattle. We're all cattle. It doesn't matter that I haven't seen the other tributes. We're all the same anyway. We're all doomed." The reporter stares at me, open-mouthed, then backs away quickly. I seem to have that effect on those brave enough to try and talk to me. No one bothers to do that anymore.

Finally, we're led on the train. I ignore everyone filing past me, staring out the window in the direction of my house. I can't say if I will ever see it again. But I do know that I'll do my best to try. I made a promise to my father, and I would never break a promise to him willingly.

But deep down I know that the Capitol will do whatever it takes to ensure that my body and mind will break. Even before I reach the arena, I am already being hunted.

* * *

**A/N: And there we have it, the reapings are finally DONE! And with that, I have a couple things to say about where we're headed.**

**But first and foremost, I want to say a huge thank you to The Ultimate Bookworm 1234, Nightshade494, Pacecca, Flammifera, PineappleGuy, curiousclove, odestaonly, Manectric11, jerseydanielgibson, itsjustanotherwriter02, Kristy LeeKl, Spongekit36, DarkColdSummer, Finnick18, and a Guest for sending me these tributes. I have enjoyed working with each of them so much, and it's because of all of you that I have a story. So truly, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!**

**As soon as this chapter gets published, I will have a poll on my profile, asking you to vote for your four favorite tributes. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE vote on this poll. I don't care if you usually review or not, if you read I am begging you to vote. I still don't have a Top 8 sorted out yet, and I need to know who you guys find interesting. The poll will reset itself after we go into the arena, but early interest is vital for me to know.**

**I don't want to linger on much Capitol stuff, so the Capitol chapters will be set up in the exact same way as I did the reapings: 6 chapters, 4 POV's per chapter. Every tribute will get one more POV shot before heading into the Games.**

**Finally, I am going to be starting another story now that the reapings are done. I can't say definitively on what the subject of the story will be (I was going to do Harry Potter, but ever since I saw Rise of Skywalker and was left in an utter mess by that movie, I might just post the Star Wars one I've been working on), but keep an eye out for it if you think it will interest you. I can say with certainty that I'll be taking a break until the New Year.**

**Other than that, I hope you all had a happy holiday season, and I hope to see you in the New Year! Please consider leaving a review for me, it cheers me up so much when I get one, and PLEASE vote on the poll. I'll see you soon!**

**~TT**


	8. Train Rides

**A/N: Hey guys! This chapter was definitely a change of pace from the Reapings, but it was a welcome change of pace to be sure. It was great to return to these characters now that I have a sense of how they operate, and I also got to throw in a couple OC's in terms of the mentors that I had a lot of fun with. Without further ado, I'll let you get on with the chapter!**

* * *

Nero Casteran, the Honorable Killer

District 2 Male

Leta and I are left to our own devices on the train for a couple hours, but soon my mentor Sig is knocking at my door, informing me that the recap of the Reaping's are about to start. Good. I want to get a first look at my opponents.

I follow him out into another car of the train, and Leta and her mentor Izumi are already sitting on a couch in front of a large television. There are a few opening statements by the commentators, and then the recap begins.

The tributes from District 1 are interesting, because while the male seems to be a typical Career tribute, the girl doesn't even look trained. She's thin in the extreme and wears a strange cat mask over her face. I don't think she'll be making it into the Career alliance.

Leta and I are shown next, and now that I'm watching it back, I can see the fury on Leta's face when I volunteered. I don't know why I provoked her so much, and I can only guess that she believes the lie about me: that I was the one to narc about the training centers. I don't really care if she likes me or not, but we'll have to work together for a little while during the Career alliance.

District 3 produces the usual kids. The boy is underfed, and while the girl seems a bit healthier, she still doesn't seem like much of a challenge. The same can't be said for the tributes of District 4; both are volunteers and exude an aura of confidence. They'll be worthy allies, and hopefully, worthy opponents once the inevitable breaking of the alliance happens.

I get a bit of a surprise with the tributes from District 5. Both are shrewd and determined looking, and neither look as though they've given up. This pleases me, I want as many clean fights as possible. Beating a kid who is already down gives me no pleasure. The District 6 tributes couldn't be more different from each other. The girl is a tiny thirteen-year-old who can't hide how scared she is, and the boy, while not a volunteer, is quick to espouse on himself and tell his District about how he's going the be the next Victor. He might be a useful meat shield for a while, especially because I don't think we'll have the District 1 female as part of the Career pack.

The District 7 tributes don't leave much of an impact on me, though I like how they're both clearly trying hard not to show fear. The two tributes in District 8 seem to know each other, and the boy actually volunteers. I don't think I've ever seen a volunteer from District 8. District 9 seems to produce nothing spectacular. The girl is clearly terrified, and the boy doesn't seem like much either.

In District 10, the girl volunteers for her younger sister, putting everyone on edge. Everyone is clearly reminded of the beginning of the Mockingjay's Rebellion, but no one wants to say it out loud. The boy is normal, a bit underfed, but looks as though he is no stranger to a hard day's work. I have a certain amount of respect for him that I can't quite explain.

The District 11 tributes are quite a shock, probably the biggest one so far. The girl is a volunteer, and it's revealed she's the daughter of a previous Victor. That probably means she's trained. She would be useful in the Career alliance. The boy is another volunteer, and he's huge, and made purely of muscle. He won't speak, and comes across as more than slightly intimidating. I immediately want both of them in the alliance.

District 12 is last, and as usual, it doesn't seem like their tributes are much to worry about. The girl doesn't seem all there, and the boy, while another surprising volunteer, has unclear motivations for volunteering. His eyes almost betray that he never expects to get out of the arena alive.

As the recap finishes, Sig flicks the television off. "Alright you two," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Both of you are strong and capable, and the Career alliance is definitely the way to go. The District Four tributes and the male from District One should be automatic allies, but I don't know about the girl from District One. The tributes from District Eleven should be good replacements for her." Leta and I both nod to show our understanding.

Sig turns to the girls. "You said you wanted to be coached separately?" he asks Leta. She nods her head in assent. "Then off you get with Izumi." The two girls stand, and I notice that Leta is careful to not look at me. They leave the car, and once their footsteps are faded Sig turns his attention back to me.

Sig is a legend in District 2. He was a volunteer, of course, and even in his mid-thirties he hasn't let himself go to seed. He's a huge man that's made purely of muscle, and during his time in the arena, he didn't often need another weapon other than his bare hands. But despite this aggressiveness, as a mentor he has a reputation for being fair and works hard to bring his tributes back. He didn't immediately cast me off either. I'm lucky to have him coaching me.

"Alright, this isn't gonna work if we aren't honest with each other," he says right off the bat. I decide I like his upfront, no bullshit approach. "You weren't who I was expecting to get. The centers told me I was getting some different kid, so I planned my strategy around him. Why are you here instead?"

"I run the Slummy," I shrug. I can tell by the slight lift of his eyebrows that he recognizes the name. "The centers decided they didn't want me anymore, and I wanted to prove them wrong. I also wanted to show the kids that I train that I'm not just all talk. I do believe in what we're doing, and I believe in their talents."

Sig lets out a deep breath. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, kid," he mutters, and I can't tell if this is supposed to be a compliment or not. "You're smarter than the other kid I was supposed to get, no doubt about that." He looks me over critically. "What are your strengths?" he questions.

"I'm best with a knife, and I spent a lot of time learning about survival," I answer. "A lot of the other trainees ignored anything to do with survival, so I thought that would give me an edge. I also took swimming lessons before the training centers kicked me out. I probably won't be as good as the two from District Four, but I can hold my own pretty well in the water."

Sig nods slowly. "Good. You're right about the survival skills, that will be a huge advantage over your opponents." He cocks his head as he stares at me, as though he's trying to figure something out. "I'll probably spend the rest of the night coming up with a workable strategy for you. Like I said, you're a lot different than what I thought I was getting. You actually stand a chance."

I take this as my cue to leave, and I heave myself up from the couch. But before I can leave the car, Sig calls me back. "One more thing," he frowns. "What did you do to make that girl hate you so much? She could cause some problems for you."

I sigh heavily, scrubbing my face. "I can't be sure, but I'm guessing she buys into the drivel that I tattled about the training centers even though I never did. She probably thinks that the Slummy isn't legitimate. That's my guess, but I don't know her well enough to say for certain. For all I know, she might have just had a good strategy for taking the guy who was supposed to come down and now she's just mad that she has to figure something else out."

Sig nods his head slowly, processing the information I've given him. "Hate to say it, but both are viable options," he shrugs. I'm about to turn away before he opens his mouth again. "Don't mention it to anyone, but I think the work you're doing is actually a really good thing. You're giving hope to kids that have never had it before. It's made a leader out of you, and that could serve you well in the arena."

I can feel my face flush slightly at his compliment. I've never heard good words about the Slummy from anyone in a position of privilege. I thought all the mentors thought it was a waste of time, and didn't care for the kids I was training there. I'm stunned that Sig actually thinks I'm doing something good.

"Th-thank you sir," I stammer as I incline my head towards him. He waves a hand at me, a clear message for me to leave, but I think I see a small smile on his hard features. Smiling myself, I head back to my own quarters.

I go back over my early strategy now that I'm alone. I'm not too worried about making a big statement during the opening ceremonies; District 2 always gets excellent stylists. And while not likely having the District 1 girl in the Career alliance puts a bit of a wrench in the original plans, there's more than enough options to make up for her. Either of the tributes from 11 would be helpful, and if we can't get either of them, there was always that boy from District 6.

But what's worrying me most is Leta's attitude. She's been giving me the cold shoulder ever since we've been on the train, and I don't think she's even spoken a word to me. Though I have my own morals and would never try and sabotage someone who didn't have a fair shot at fighting back, I can't say the same about her. Is she the type of person who would kill me in my sleep?

Both of us will be in the Career pack, this I know for certain. We both know that this is the easiest way to slip into the Top 8. But when the break does come, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find that it would be Leta turning against me that would initiate the break.

She makes me angry, but her prejudice against me is nothing I haven't faced before. I'm doing this to prove to all my boys back home that the Slummy is for real, and that the kids who train at the centers should fear _us_, not the other way around. Leta is just another person who I will prove the legitimacy of my cause to.

Because when I'm crowned the Victor, no one will doubt me or the Slummy ever again. And even Leta will be forced to acknowledge that before her time comes.

Sorelle Keylock, the Abused Survivor

District 1 Female

I avoid the recap of the Reaping's. I don't need to see myself on screen, don't need to hear the commentators questioning why I'm wearing a mask. There have been a couple knocks on my door, but I haven't answered any of them. I haven't quite made up my mind as to what I'm going to, but I'd like to be alone for a little while at least before we get to the Capitol. Then, the cameras will be focused on me again.

So when there's another knock at the door, I don't answer this one either. But apparently, I hadn't locked the door like I thought, because I see my mentor Wonder Light slip through.

Wonder Light is possibly the most well-known Victor alive. She won four years ago at the age of seventeen, and has been the Capitol's darling ever since. Ryan often keeps his television on for background noise, and I've seen her Games replayed several times, as well as advertisements featuring her modeling. She's everything that Capitol wants her to be, and a small part of me can't help but to hate her for it.

Without waiting for an invitation, she sits on the bed across from me, staring at me with her wide, violet eyes that couldn't have been natural. "So, I don't know if you haven't left this room yet because you've already given up or not, but my job is to bring you home, but I can't do that if you aren't going to help me out," she states bluntly. "I've said this to all my tributes, but you look like you might be the one who needs to hear it the most: I don't care about your past. I don't particularly care if you like me or not either. That's all irrelevant to me. What matters is that I'm going to do everything I can to get you out of that arena alive."

Her small speech shocks me more than a little. I'd always thought of Wonder as some airhead who cared for nothing other than her looks, like many of District 1's Victors, particularly the female ones. Her tenacity and vivacity are surprises.

"I," I begin, but can't quite seem to make the words come to my mouth. I swallow dryly and try again. "I don't really know if I'm cut out for these Games. I'm not trained like my district partner is."

"That might be a good thing," she shrugs, surprising me again. "I found that most of my own training was just a distraction when I went into the arena. Sure, I knew how to throw knives around, but how is that different than any of the other Career districts? What separated me, and all the Victors who came before and after me, apart?" She pauses here, but I don't offer an answer for her. "I won because I used my brain," she stresses. "The real test of the Hunger Games is not a physical one, it's mental. Every single winner of the Hunger Games has one thing in common, and that's ingenuity."

I blink at her, becoming more and more perturbed. This was not how I imagined this conversation going at all. More than anything, I'm struck by how much Wonder seems to care. She actually seems like she's serious about wanting to bring me home.

"So, that said, we do need to run through a list of your strengths so that I can better help you," she says, folding her hands in her lap. "You look underfed, but that might actually be an advantage. I can promise that if Jem loses his food source, he won't make it. We can fatten you up a little while you're in the Capitol, but if you know how to survive without food for a while, that'll be good," she murmurs, almost to herself. "You're tall, but skinny. How good are you at hiding? Running?"

I look down awkwardly into my lap. I don't really want to mention that I've spent most of my life running and hiding from Peacekeepers… but then again, she did say that she didn't care about my past. I've never been able to trust before, but if I don't surrender at least a little bit of trust to this woman, I won't have a shot at winning.

"I can run and hide pretty well," I say, my voice barely higher than a whisper. "People can't really seem to catch me if I don't want to be caught."

"Excellent," Wonder nods. "And this is going to sound personal, but I have to know…" Oh no. She's going to ask about the mask. She's going to make me take it off, and I don't know if I can face that. I flinch away from her out of instinct.

"Do you want to keep the mask on the entire time? I can work it into your angle if you do," she says nonchalantly. Out of all the surprises Wonder Light has given me, this is the biggest. She doesn't seem to care one way or the other if I keep the mask on or not. She's leaving the choice entirely up to me.

"I'd like to keep it on if that's alright," I say, and she just nods.

"Sounds like a plan then. We can go for an intimidating and mysterious angle for you then, and I'll mention it to your stylist that we'll be keeping it on the whole time," she smiles. "Don't worry, I know your stylist well, he's the same one I work with and have ever since my own Games. He'll listen to me, I promise."

"Isn't that going to interfere with my interview though? Having this on?" I mutter, voicing my worst fear. I've already been dreading the interview, and I don't know how well the Capitol is going to react to me if I show up in a cat mask.

"Not if we play into the angle we're going for," she reminds me. "The Capitol likes seeing tributes who leave them wanting more. The mask will pique their interest, and get them talking about you. That's where I'll take over. Trust me, I can coax money out of _anyone _here," she says with a little laugh that makes my spine tingle. For the first time, I see a bit of the dangerous killer Wonder showed during her Games.

"Anyway, I know you didn't see the Reaping, so we're going to do our own recap in here," she says. "We'll eat our dinner in here too, so you don't have to see Jem and I don't have to see Dazzle." She makes a face when mentioning the other mentor. "You'd think that getting shot down over and over would make a guy see that you're not into him, but he doesn't get that," she bemoans before turning her attention back to me, handing me a laminated sheet of paper. "There's the menu. Order anything you like."

I glance down at the sheet, and I hardly recognize anything on this list. Though Ryan has been teaching me to read, I can't even think of how I would go about pronouncing most of these items. I settle on one of the only things I recognize, a bowl of fruit.

That said bowl of fruit is huge when it does arrive, but Wonder tells me to eat as much as I can without making myself sick, and she advises me to eat a little bit at a time so I can better acclimate myself to the rich food. I pick apart a banana, and even though I've had these before, I'm thrown off by just how sweet it is. I've never quite tasted anything like it.

Wonder, meanwhile, has spread out pictures of the other tributes on my bed. "Are you open to an alliance?" she asks right off the bat.

"I don't know," I mumble. "I guess I would be. I would probably make it farther with one."

"Well, I don't think joining the Career alliance is the right move for you, especially since you didn't come from the training centers," Wonder says, and I agree with her. And judging from the disdainful looks Jem was giving me both at the Reaping and at the station, I can't imagine he's all the interested in an alliance with me.

"In that case, we'll get rid of these tributes," she says, taking Jem's picture, as well as both tributes from Districts 2 and 4 and placing them to the side. "They're all going to be in the Career alliance, I can guarantee that now. Each one of them was a volunteer, and each one of them will be trained. Stay out of their way at all costs until the end," she warns.

She picks up a picture of the girl from District 11. "This is Scythe Johnsyn," she says, handing me the photo. "She's a Victor's daughter, and also a volunteer. I don't know if she'll join the Career pack or not, but if she doesn't, I think she'd be your best shot as an ally. She was confident on screen, and I've met her mother Gena before. I can assure you that Scythe will know what she's doing." I nod, getting a good look at the girl. The picture was just taken at the Reaping, but Scythe does seem confident. She's got very noticeable blonde, almost white hair. I don't know if I can make her want to have an alliance with me, but I'll do my best.

"As for the others," Wonder muses, looking down at her pictures. "No one else particularly stood out to me, but get a look at the others during your training. See who's willing to talk to others and who keeps to themselves. The ones that will talk are more likely to agree to an alliance."

I nod, trying to keep all the information straight. It's a lot to take in all at once, but I do get the sense that Wonder is trying her best to help me. That's more than I've gotten from most other people in my entire life.

"One more thing to keep in mind when choosing an alliance," she says. "See how people are doing during training, but keep in mind their ages. Older tributes will almost always be better. There were two twelve-year-old's in my Games, the boy from Eight and the girl from Five. They struggled, even just during training, and I knew that the Capitol, as well as the rest of the people in my alliance, wrote them both off as bloodbath tributes. I had wanted to help them. But if you want to be the one to come out alive, you cannot afford to think like that."

She's staring me dead in the face now. Her violet eyes have changed from the bright, lively things I'd been seeing all afternoon. Though the Capitol can give her new eyes, they can't change the things she's seen. For the first time today, she appears haunted. She might have been bred to enter the Games, but I don't think she was prepared to win.

"If you want to make it out alive," she repeats. "You cannot afford to be sentimental." She points to two of the pictures in front of us. I see the girl from District 6 and the girl from District 9. Neither of them look like they would tip the scale at 80 pounds. "These two girls are both thirteen, and they'll be the youngest going into that arena with you. I don't know if either of them have hidden skills, but you can't afford to show mercy just because they're young," she stresses.

But this is the one thing I don't know if I can do. I don't want to think about having to kill children, and yet I know Wonder is right. If I'm going to stay alive, I'm going to have to kill some of these tributes, perhaps even my own teammates. I just haven't decided if it's worth it yet.

"How did you do it?" The question springs to my lips unbidden, but all of the sudden I'm dying to know. The Wonder I saw in the Games was a typical Career tribute: bloodthirsty and ruthless. The Wonder in front of me is just trying to save anther kid's life.

"Truthfully?" she sighs. "I just had to keep focused on the fact that I didn't want to die. If that's where your head is, you'll be surprised how far it can take you." She rises, stretching slighting, before turning back to me. "You've got a good chance, Sorelle. I hope you haven't counted yourself out yet." She gives me one last small smile before she leaves my room, leaving me with the turmoil of my thoughts.

I don't doubt that what she told me was true. If I can keep in the mindset of not wanting to die, I'd probably surprise even myself the lengths I'd be willing to go to keep myself alive.

I just haven't decided on whether or not I want that mindset.

Malinois Ferguson, the Ordered Planner

District 10 Male

I furrow my brow as the recap of the Reaping's is finally over. There was a slew of volunteers this year, and not just from the Career districts. According to the commentators, there was even one girl who is the daughter of a past Victor. These Games are not going to be easy. I hope now that the recap is over, I can finally start planning and discussing strategy. Most of this train ride has been unbelievably boring, and I'm getting restless. There's nothing I hate more than having nothing to do, no sort of plan to follow.

Phoenix sits on the other side of the couch, her eyes wide and scared. While there were only two people from the outlying districts who hadn't volunteered, myself included, Phoenix was the only volunteer that did so to save someone she loved. The commentators were being careful not to mention it, but everyone is thinking the same thing when it comes to Phoenix: she resembles the Mockingjay.

I don't think she has a chance after volunteering like that. The Gamemakers will take her out themselves before risking another incident like the Mockingjay's Rebellion.

Personally, I don't care one way or the other. She's just an obstacle to me coming home, and if the Gamemakers decide to take her out, that just easier paves my road to victory.

"Time to split up?" Kota, my mentor, asks the woman. I don't know her name. She nods and Kota turns to me. "Let's go kid," he mutters, and I happily follow him into the dining cart. Phoenix was stressed out and making zero attempts to hide this fact, and in turn it was stressing me out as well. I nearly hit her except we're not supposed to fight with the other tributes before we get into the arena and our mentors were sitting right there.

Kota sits at the table and takes a long swig of an unfamiliar liquid before finally focusing on me. "Well, what am I working with here?" he asks. "I'll warn you now, this is my first year at this, so I don't know how good I'll be, but they still like me in the Capitol at least. That might help me get you sponsors." He scowls at something before taking another drink.

"I'm willing to kill," I state right off the bat. "My life is the most important thing to me, more important that some stranger's. If having to kill means surviving, I will."

Kota inclines his head. "You're damn right that you'll need to kill before coming home," he says. I'm not sure how much I like Kota yet, but I do appreciate that he's blunt with me. I need clear answers on what it's like in the Games if I'm going to have any chance of making a plan that will work.

"How did you make it home?" I ask him. I remember watching his Games last year. He slipped under the radar until suddenly, he found himself in the Top 8 and then went after who was left. The Career pack had broken early that year due to conflicting personalities, so many of the stronger tributes were taken out before they could do serious damage.

"I was like you I guess," Kota mutters, but I notice that his face has darkened. He puts one of his hands in his pocket absentmindedly, but if there's something in the pocket he doesn't pull it out to share. "I just wanted to get home more than anything. That can take you far, but it won't automatically make you win. Plenty of the other tributes want to get home just as much as you do, and I saw my fair share of determination among the other tributes, not just the Careers. Your district partner for one. She's got some serious motivation to get out of there, so don't count her out just yet."

He's quiet for the next moment, so I decide to give him just a few moments of reflection. I want to start making my plan, but Kota is my superior here, my teacher. That means he deserves my respect.

"Know how to use a weapon? Ever killed a stray animal on a farm before or something?" he asks. His words remind me of another factor about him. He was wickedly good with a hunting knife, but his movements were reminiscent of someone who spent their life fighting vicious animals, not people. The few remaining Careers at the end weren't accustomed to that kind of fighting and were unprepared to counter it.

I scowl heavily, because I've never had to fight an animal like that it my life. I've knocked a couple people out if they were seriously bothering me and didn't heed my verbal warning, but I've never even been in a proper fistfight.

"No," I mutter. "But I know how to prepare animals for food, and I know a decent amount about edible plants and such. I can survive in the wild. And I can keep going without a ton of food for a while. I'm used to not eating much."

Kota considers my words. "That'll help, but you won't win just by surviving," he points out. "And the Capitol might not want to sponsor you if you're quiet for too long. You'll need to do your best to at least become competent with a weapon during training. An alliance wouldn't be a bad idea either."

I'm puzzled about that bit of advice. Kota never had an alliance during the Games; he went in completely on his own. Then again, he clearly had more skills in his repertoire than I'm bringing to the table.

"Is there anyone you would suggest?" I ask.

To my surprise, he immediately nods. "You'll need to check how good these guys are in training, but the guys from Six and Eleven aren't to be counted out." I immediately know which tributes he's referring to. The boy from 6 talked about how he was going to be the Victor, and while he didn't seem like the brightest tool in the shed, he was quite burly. And the boy from Eleven was huge, as well as a volunteer, though his reasons as to why were unclear. He was the one who didn't talk, so I file that information away.

"Don't try to get into the Career pack, you're not that kind of material," Kota warns. He furrows his brow, seemingly deep in thought. "The girl from Eleven would be good to get on your side, but she's going to be a hot commodity. She might even join the Careers." I remember her as well. She's a Victor's daughter, and her confidence spoke to the fact that she'd been trained. She'll be a dangerous opponent no matter if I can ally with her or not.

"The only other ones I might recommend are the tributes from Five," he says. When I try to recall these two, I'm drawing a blank. That means they didn't make much of an impression on me, so I'm surprised that Kota would mention them specifically.

My face must have betrayed my confusion, because Kota begins to explain. "Both of them individually had more determination in their eyes then the rest of you combined. I don't know what it was about them, but I wouldn't count them out. Keep your eye on them and see what they can do." I nod my head to show I understand. I don't know what these two tributes looked like, so I'll have to pay attention tomorrow during the opening ceremonies.

"So, the plan is to check out the other tributes skills and scout out who would be good in an alliance," I summarize, more for my benefit than Kota's. "Keep a special watch on the male from Six and both tributes from Five and Eleven. What next?"

"Woah, kid, slow down," Kota warns. "That's all you need to worry about for now. We'll focus on stuff like your interview when we get there. Don't think about anything else yet."

"I can't do that!" I explode. "I need to have a plan so I know what to do!"

"And you have a plan," he tried to placate. "You just don't want to get ahead of yourself. If you do that, you'll forget what you're supposed to be doing at the moment."

"No I won't," I say, rather defiantly. Normally I wouldn't dare talk to a superior this way, but he clearly doesn't know me well enough to know how I operate. If I don't know exactly what I'm going to do, I'll fall apart and I won't have a chance at all, and I tell Kota as much. He needs to understand this about me.

"Okay, that's how you think," he huffs. "And I'm telling you that it won't work. I was exactly where you are now a year ago. I can remember what it was like pretty damn clearly. If you don't keep all your focus on what you're doing, you will die. Can I get any more specific?"

I shrink back into my chair, successfully admonished. "No sir," I mumble, not meeting his eyes. He's right though. I need to listen to him if I'm going to have a chance at surviving. Not to mention that he'll be controlling my sponsor gifts in the Games. I don't want to risk him not sending something because I infuriated him.

"No need to call me 'sir,'" he says hastily before changing the subject. "You just need to trust that I know what I'm doing. I _want _to get you home, I promise. It's just not going to be easy, and you'll have to do some things different than you're used to. For one, you can't make a plan for everything. We'll do what we can during all the pre-Game fanfare, but once you're in the Games, nothing will go according to any plan you have. I can give you tips, like find water before you do anything else, but other than that, you're going to have to think on your feet. Improvisation is key in these Games."

That terrifies me. I've never been able to improvise anything. If things don't align perfectly with my plan, I fall apart. Improvisation, spontaneity, is not who I am at all. It's such an issue for me that my ex-girlfriend even broke up with me because I wasn't spontaneous enough for her. How am I supposed to rewire my whole mindset in a matter of days?

"Look, kid, you'll be okay," Kota mutters. I guess my panic must have been clear on my face. "If it makes you feel better, no one's going to have any idea what they're doing in there. The best thing you can do is try and make a vague plan, just don't count on it too much. And keep that mindset of wanting to come home. It'll be your biggest asset." With that, he finishes off his drink and gets up from the table. "The plan right now is for you to get some dinner and sleep. You've got some raw muscle, but gaining a few pounds before the Games won't hurt at all. I'll get the other two and we'll have dinner." As he leaves the cart, I see his hand finally leave his pocket. He's got something silver clutched in his hand, but I can't make out what it is.

Kota's words confirm my worst fears. These Games are going to challenge me in more ways that I could have ever predicted, and the worst part is that I'm not sure if I'm a match for what will be thrown at me.

Jake Conway, the Grim Volunteer

District 12 Male

The train ride is an uncomfortable experience, at best. I'm still reeling from the goodbye to my mother and Auburn. My mother sobbed the whole time, and Auburn wouldn't stop shouting at me. They made me regret my decision, but by then of course, it was too late to change anything.

At least I didn't keep any other secrets from them. Both of them know that I have no chance on making it home. Screaming and crying will be the last memories I have of the only two people I've ever loved.

I deserve those terrible memories. I'm an awful friend, and a worse son. I hurt the people I care most about, and I did so of my own volition. I don't deserve to make it out of the Hunger Games and go back to them.

I've tried getting to know my district partner Liza, but she doesn't seem to be all there to me. When I tried saying hello to her once we boarded the train, she told me she knew my secrets and wouldn't fall for my tricks before departing down the hall. She never blinks, at least not that I can see. She's definitely off, but I do hope that I'll be able to help her by refusing Larkspur's assistance.

Right now, we're sitting on the couch, just finishing the recap of the Games. Larkspur is in between us, watching more intently than either Liza or myself have. I don't really want to bother knowing the other tributes when one of them will be killing me in a week. And Liza keeps staring off into space.

"Well," Larkspur starts as she hits a button on some sort of remote, muting the commentators who are talking about how odd it is to have a volunteer from District 12. "First things first. Do you want to be mentored separately or together?"

I'm about to tell her that we can be mentored together because I don't need her help, but Liza speaks up before I can. "Separately," she says in the most assured voice I've heard from her thus far. She's clearly thought about this decision and is confident in her choice. I don't know why she's so afraid of me. I tried to explain that I wasn't going to be a threat to her, but she wouldn't let me.

"Fine," Larkspur agrees tiredly, and I get the sense that she doesn't care one way or the other. "Who wants to go first?"

"Me," I say quickly before Liza gets the chance. She stares at me for a moment, still not blinking those pale green eyes. I meet her gaze as best as I'm able, but she's got me sweating. I don't know why she's putting me so on edge, but at least I won't have to put up with it for long.

Finally, she breaks our stare and exits the room. Larkspur turns to me, but before she can offer any sort of advice, I cut her off.

"Look, I know that your job is supposed to train both of us," I begin, and I see her raise her eyebrow in confusion. "But we both know that only one of us can come out alive in the Games, and you have a harder job than the other Districts because you're the only mentor. But I want to make your job easier. Please, just concentrate on Liza. Don't waste your resources on me."

Larkspur is taken aback, that much is certain. Whatever she was expecting me to say, it wasn't that. "Look, kid, that's a noble sentiment, but you aren't going to last without a mentor to help you. I got lucky that my escort was willing to play the part of a mentor in terms of setting up sponsorships for me when I was in the Games, but we don't have an escort at the moment who cares enough to do that. I'm all you've got."

I swallow heavily. She doesn't understand. "I know, but I don't plan on coming out alive," I whisper. "I want to die in the bloodbath. I'm not going to try, so I don't want you to waste efforts on me when I'm doomed."

Larkspur's surprised expression suddenly turns sad. Her shoulders drop and she sighs heavily. She slowly scrubs her face with both hands for a moment before turning back to me.

"Before I make the promise to leave you alone, you need to understand exactly what it means for you to want to die in the bloodbath," she says lowly. "No interruptions. You'll hear me out completely, then decide if you still want to go through with it. Got it?" I nod mutely. I can't imagine anything she'll say will cause me to change my mind after the hell I went through with my mother and Auburn, but the least I can do is listen. Despite the situation, I actually like Larkspur, and I respect her as well.

"No matter what you've seen on the television, no matter what words of advice I could offer you, nothing, absolutely nothing, can prepare you for the Games," she mutters, and I notice that her eyes aren't looking at me anymore. They're far away, staring at something that isn't here. It's the same hollow look she wore at the Reaping.

"When you enter that arena, the first thing you're confronted with is death. And I know death is common in District Twelve, but it's nothing like this. These are children killing each other. It's brutality in its most basic form. And when you're thrown into a situation that is trying to force you into your animalistic instincts to kill, your animalistic instincts to _survive_ will inevitably take over.

"I thought that I was going to die in the bloodbath. I didn't think I had a prayer of winning against tributes who'd trained their entire lives for the Games. I thought that dying in the bloodbath would be quick and easy, and I wouldn't have to worry about things like finding water and food and killing other tributes. I thought I was being brave for accepting my death so early.

"And then I went into the arena. Once that gong went off, I stepped off my plate, knowing perfectly well that my life was about to end. It didn't matter. I was happy. I embraced death with a smile." She pauses here, and I have to remember to breathe. Her story is captivating in a horrifying way. Her low tone, the dead look in her eyes, I couldn't stop listening even if I hadn't promised her I would. Even though I'd watched her Games, I'm on the edge of my seat. I have to know how the story ends.

"The girl from District One raced toward me, brandishing a knife in my face. She tackled me and… something snapped. I could smell blood from the bodies all around me, could hear screams and hacks of weapons tearing into human flesh. And suddenly, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. My body saw that an enemy was approaching and my instinct to survive took over. The girl raised her arm to stab me, and I somehow was fueled with enough adrenaline to use my strength to twist her arm and stab her in the chest instead. She coughed blood into my face, and then went stiff on top of me. I grabbed her knife, pushed her off me, scooped up a pack, and I ran."

Finally, Larkspur pulls herself out of her memory and stares me straight in the eyes again. "I made a choice after that," she tells me, her voice more urgent than ever. "I was not going to die. I had a family and friends back home that I wanted to see again. I knew that I'd be hurting them if they saw me hurting in the arena. So I kept a smile on my face, so that every time they saw me, they would know that I hadn't broken. I hadn't given up. I was going to continue fighting. And against all odds, I made it home."

She stops talking for so long that I think she's done. But when I hesitantly open my mouth slightly, she starts back up and I immediately give her my attention again. "I know that you have people who love you, who want you to come back home. You need to know that if you make the decision to die, you will take part of them with you. They will never be whole again. Can you knowingly cause the suffering of your loved ones like that? Because if you can live with that guilt… I won't train you. I'll focus my attention on her. It's not an easy question to answer, and you really need to look inside yourself to find it."

She's utterly stunned me. I knew that the Games were brutal, but her account is far more devastating than I ever could have expected. I can't begin to even imagine the sounds, let along the smell! Will I be able to stick to my plan when death is staring me in the face?

I fully believe her about hurting my mother and Auburn. I'd witnessed some of that firsthand. But I always thought that, eventually, they would be able to move on and heal from my passing. Will they truly carry that wound I will inflict on them for the rest of their lives?

I'm moments away from telling her to cancel the plan, to attempting to fight. But, unwittingly, I think of Liza's strange ways and unblinking eyes. She has people who love her, too, just as much as my mother and Auburn love me. If I live, I'll be inflicting an unhealable wound on them. And I just can't do it.

"My mind is the same. Train Liza," I hear myself whisper. Larkspur sighs heavily and looks down, somehow making me feel worse. I think I've disappointed her, and I didn't want to do that. My trail of unintentionally hurting people is just getting worse the further into the Games I get.

"So be it," she whispers. "From this moment on, you're on your own." She gets up, presumably to find Liza. But before she can exit the car, she turns back to me.

"Jake, whatever death you're looking for… I hope you find it in the arena," she says. "While I can't agree with your choices, it might be that by choosing your death, you'll be the only true winner of the Games." With those cryptic words, she does take her leave.

The true winner of the Games? I don't understand. I'll probably be one of the first deaths. I'll be the furthest thing from a Victor. How could anyone mistake a bloodbath tribute who has chosen his fate for a winner?

Larkspur's haunted eyes give me an answer. With my death, I will at least be getting out of that arena. I don't think Larkspur ever left.

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**A/N: And there we have it! Let me know what you think of the mentors (because I actually have backstories for most of them), and I can tell you that some of them are going to make cameo appearances throughout the story. Next chapter will be focusing on entering the Capitol and the opening ceremonies. I hope to see you there, and I would love to have a review in the meantime.**

**As a housekeeping note, now that I've started a new story, I'm going to be updating a chapter of that, then a chapter of this story, and so on. That means updates might come a little slower, but if my muse is kind like she's being right now, there might not be a noticeable difference. And also, if you haven't yet, please make sure to vote in the poll. A big thanks to those that have.**

**~TT**


	9. Opening Ceremonies

**A/N: Note to self: don't put the two tributes that were hardest to write in the same chapter. Not the brightest move on my part. But I managed to persevere through some of the harder parts and get this ready for y'all. I hope you enjoy!**

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Patricia Norton, the Resourceful Optimist

District 7 Female

I sleep fitfully the night before I reach the Capitol. The mentors impressed into me the importance of getting good sleep before I go into the arena, but my nerves might prevent that from happening.

When the escort comes to get me for breakfast, she informs me that we'll be in the Capitol within an hour. I make sure to get a seat by the window. Like most in Panem, I've never left my District and I am curious to see if the Capitol really is as glamorous as it appears on our television screens.

The train is winding its way through mountains at the moment. In District 7, it's very clear that there are mountains in the distance, including one great one that can be seen clearly pretty much anywhere, but I've never been up close like this before. I can't even see the tops of the peaks. I'm so fascinated that I even forget my fear for a moment.

Suddenly, the train tears through a tunnel. I abandon the breakfast table and stand next to the window, eager for my first look at the Capitol. It must be on the other side of this tunnel.

As the train zips out of the tunnel, I have to squint my eyes from how bright it is. At first, I think it's the sunlight, but the tunnel wasn't so long that I would get so unused to the sun. When I finally open my watering eyes, I can plainly see that it wasn't the sunlight that was so jarring to me. It's the sheer brightness of the colors here. I feel like I've stepped into one of the candies from last night's dessert.

It's too bright. I especially hate the neon greens. I've grown up surrounded by green. What they call green here is a mockery of the rich green of the forests in District 7.

I step away from the window, not interested at all anymore in the Capitol. I go back to picking at my breakfast, and as I do, fear begins to gnaw at my stomach again. Now that I don't have a distraction, my mind is fully consumed with what's about to happen.

Tonight, I'll be put on display like a prize animal for the citizens of the Capitol. I'm just part of their spectacle, not an actual person to them. If they could recognize us as actual people, the Hunger Games might not even be a thing. But the average citizens have been successfully brainwashed by those in charge. They're not the enemies. They're victims, the same as the rest of us.

Meeting my escort has more than convinced me of that. I was so prepared to hate her, to hate that she was so excited about sending kids to their deaths, but after speaking with her just once, I knew that she didn't see it that way. To her, this is just how life is. It's natural to her, so it never occurred to her to think that it might be wrong. So I can't hate her. If anything, I just pity her.

I glance around the table, and sure enough, our escort is happy to be back to what's natural to her. I also notice that Rotto has finished his breakfast and is taking small glances out the window. Him, I can hate. He and his gang delight in making others suffer, and they know full well what they're doing. They know their victims are actual people with actual lives, just like the government of Panem. He's fiddling with a ribbon on his wrist, and I recognize it as belonging to Bay Leeves. She was a friend of mine back when I still went to school regularly, and he must have taken it as a trophy. It absolutely disgusts me.

"Are we gonna be dressed up as trees again this year?" he asks to no one in particular.

"Yup," his mentor confirms. My own mentor is nowhere in sight; no doubt she's too hungover to come to breakfast. She drank herself into a stupor last night and apparently does so every year. I'm not confident in her chances of helping me too much.

I wrinkle my face at the thought of being dressed as a tree… just like the tributes were last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. No one is ever excited about District 7's chariot entrances, because it's always the same thing year after year. Sometimes, the amount of leaves the tributes wear is more or less, but it's still just leaves. I'll be boring and predictable, and that won't impress any sponsors. The worst part is that I have absolutely no control over it.

At least this won't be the last thing potential sponsors see before going into the Games. I'll have a chance to make some sort of an impression with my interview. I don't know if my training score will be any good, especially not compared to the Careers, but I can attempt to make my mark during the interview. That will probably be my only shot at getting early sponsors, and I'm suddenly determined to make the most of it.

I finish off a little more food before the train comes to a complete stop, but the worry in my gut has grown so strong I haven't been able to force more than just a few bites down. I know I could stand to gain a couple pounds, but I also don't want to get so used to this rich food that I won't be able to survive with the bare minimums in the arena. It's a double-edged sword, and I don't think there's a good way out.

"Both of you be nice to your prep team and stylists," the mentor barks. I never got his name last night, since he was supposed to focus on Rotto instead of both of us. I guess he's taking pity on me now since my own mentor is still out of commission. I wonder how they'll even get her off the train.

"Why?" Rotto asks, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. "You already said that we're going to be trees, so what does it matter if we're nice or not? They've already made up their minds on what we're going to be tonight."

"There's still the interviews they have to dress us for," I mumble. "They could stick you in something horrible for those if you're rude."

"She's right," the mentor says. "And if you're really mouthy to them, they'll make you go out mostly naked. I've seen them do it before. So unless you want to show off everything you've got to the Capitol right away, be my guest." Rotto grumbles something under his breath, but he stays mostly quiet after that.

Our escort leads us to the doors in front of some large building. There's a large crowd gathered outside, but she assures us that we'll be protected. I can't stop my eye roll this time at her words. The Peacekeepers aren't there to protect us, they're there to make sure we don't try and run off. Thankfully, she's so busy fussing over us that she doesn't see my eye roll.

The doors open, and I'm immediately accosted by shouts. The Capitolites are out in full force, excited that another train has arrived. I don't hear either of our names called, just shouts of "District Seven!" throughout the crowd. I sigh, but I lift my hand slightly before the Peacekeepers station themselves around Rotto and I, effectively blocking us from the crowd and ensuring we have no way to go but forward.

We reach the building soon enough, and from there Rotto and I are finally separated. I'm instead led into what looks like a hospital room, but this is much nicer and better equipped than the meager hospital we have in the District. I was only there once to help carry in a kid who'd lost his hand in a sawing accident. Mostly, we go to the individual healers or if we're really desperate, the apothecary instead of the actual hospital, and I personally think they're more reliable.

Soon enough, three ridiculous looking people enter the room, and they introduce themselves as my prep team. I forget their names almost immediately. They strip me down, ignoring my protests to the act, but they're unfazed by me being nude. At least my prep team is composed of all women. If there was a man in here, that would be the worst.

The next several hours are nothing short of torturous. I'm no stranger to pain, but I've never experienced my hairs being pulled out from almost everywhere on my body by dripping hot wax onto my skin and yanking the hairs away. My skin is pink and raw by the time they're done, and the only hair I have left is on top of my head and what's left of my eyebrows.

After that, they start scrubbing me with a rough mitt, doing what they call a "body polish." If my skin was angry before, that's nothing like what it is now. I'm so red, I look like I've laid out in the sun for hours. Do people in the Capitol really routinely subject themselves to all this pain just so they meet the beauty standards here? That boggles my mind.

Finally, they begin applying a thick lotion that immediately soothes my skin, slowly restoring its color to my natural tone. They chatter incessantly while working on me, but don't seem to mind that I'm not really giving responses. They talk excitedly of the tributes and who their early favorites are. I'm only listening sporadically, but it seems early bets are on the usual Career tributes, and the District 11 tributes.

"And of course we're all fans of you," one of the women smiles at me as she works a lather of soap into my scalp. I try smiling back at her, but it's not genuine. I have no doubt that if I die in the arena, the only lamenting these people will do is that they won't get their shot to appear on television at the crowning ceremony.

They go on to lament about how they aren't allowed to place bets since they're part of the staff of the Games, and I'm reminded again how inhumane I'm going to be treated, probably for the rest of my life. In the unlikely event that I win, I won't been seen as Patricia Norton, the girl from District 7. I'll be seen as Victor Patricia Norton who will be expected to return to the Capitol year after year and relive her Hunger Games, talk to the reporters and make nice with Capitol dignitaries. I've seen the interviews of the mentors before the Games, and now that I know my mentors, it's easy to tell that not all of them are anywhere close to as excited as they appear to be. They hate the Games just as much as we do.

Eventually, the prep team declare that I'm fit enough to see my stylist. I wave them goodbye as I barely refrain from making a face. This is the part where I'm supposed to be excited about being a tree. I'm not usually a pessimist, but I don't think even I can pretend to stir up any excitement for being covered in leaves.

I plaster a fake smile on my face when Aquila, my stylist, walks in. She greets me in her shrill voice before examining my body. Again, I'm thankful that she's a woman. I feel awful for the girls that get male stylists, especially the younger ones. Aquila looks me over a bit before handing me a robe and inviting me to join her for lunch.

I'm greeted with a sumptuous array of meats, fruits, grains, breads, and some things I don't even have names for. I pick a tiny bit of everything, actually hungry from how long it's been since my meager breakfast and now. As I begin to eat, Aquila smiles at me.

"So, Patricia," she begins. "As you know, District Seven is our lumbar district. With that in mind, let's talk about your style…."

Zale Turk Asturias, the Determined Career

District 4 Male

As I'm finishing lunch, my stylist, who introduced herself as Simia, is holding up several sketches of what I assume are multiple designs of chariot costumes. "I wanted to get away from the coral theme that I've been doing recently," she explains. "I went over a few ideas involving seashells, but in the end, I decided that was too feminine." She points to a sketch of someone wearing an outfit entirely covered with seashells. It doesn't look too bad to me, but I'm not versed on Capitol fashion. In fact, the chariot entrances are probably my least favorite part of the Games, and as such I've never paid much attention to them.

"Eventually, after discussing things with my co-designer, we thought that the best thing to do this year would be scales," she says with a wide smile on her face, showcasing the tiny pink gems she has implanted in each of her teeth. I've seen plenty of alterations on the television before of Capitolites, but to see it in person is truly unnerving. I glance back down at the drawings so I can avoid having to look at her teeth.

Simia is pointing to a drawing of a shirt and pants with the designs of scales on them. "While the picture doesn't show it, you'll change color as you move," she's explaining.

The next couple hours are spent getting me ready for the opening ceremonies. Simia chatters away aimlessly and my prep team has been called back in to help her make a few changes. I use the opportunity to take a little nap. My mentor has impressed the importance of getting as much sleep as possible before going into the arena, and I've taken the advice to heart. Luckily, my nerves aren't getting in the way of my sleep schedule.

"There! Absolutely perfect!" Simia exclaims, waking me from my half-asleep state. I stand up and scrutinize myself in the mirror. Everything has to be just right for my appearance in the chariot entrances tonight if I'm going to get sponsors.

After taking one look at me, Simia immediately decided that it would be best if I went shirtless, so I'm bare from the waist up. My hair has been styled so there's more of a wave then it usually has on its own. My pants are made of that material she showed me on her design paper, and the scales do indeed change color whenever I move. The sides of my face and the tops of my torso also have fake scales painted on them. I've also been given a fake trident to hold. Overall, the effect is impressive, and I'm happy with it. The chariot outfits can get awfully repetitive year after year, but since District 4 is all about the ocean, there's much more room for creativity than some of the other Districts.

I run my hand over my jaw, turning it a couple different angles. I've never been inclined to have much in terms of facial hair, but apparently, I don't have a choice while in the Games. They injected me with something that makes it impossible for me to grow any facial hair for two months, and it's odd not to feel a tiny bit of stubble. I've trained my whole life for the Games, but it's these little changes that I'm finding to be the most jarring.

"When do I go on?" I ask Simia. I've been prepped for most of the day; surely, it's almost sundown and time for the opening ceremonies to begin. While I'm not too fond wearing costumes, I am eager to go out and have the sponsors get another look at me.

Plus, I'm ready to see Pearlia again. We've been apart for most of the day, and having her by my side in this unfamiliar place has been an unbelievable comfort for me. Whatever changes are made, she's been constant.

"Oh, not very long at all. In fact," Simia checks the time from some digital device she wears around her wrist. "We better start getting you down now. We don't want to be late! Come, come." She ushers me forward and after a few minutes, I'm led into a small alley where servants are preparing the chariots and horses. I also see a few of my fellow tributes for the first time, but I'm not too interested in them. Pearlia and I decided that we would introduce ourselves to the rest of the Career tributes together, and she's definitely not here yet.

Simia leads me over near the District 4 chariot, and has me wait for Pearlia, her stylist, and our mentors to join us. I tap my foot in anticipation, and finally, I see her walking into the alley. And the second I lay my eyes on her, my jaw drops.

She looks utterly stunning. Pearlia has always been beautiful, but I've never seen her looking like this before. She's wearing a two-piece version of my outfit, but instead of pants she's been given a skirt that looks like a mermaid's tail. Her top shows off her toned stomach and arms, and her usually straight hair has been curled and styled with a headpiece that looks like it's made out of thousands of little seashells. There's just one thing that's off…

I raise an eyebrow and gesture to my chest. She immediately groans and crosses her arms over her own chest. "They're stuffed with padding," she grumbles when she reaches me. "Apparently, according to my stylist, 'Girls with curves always get more sponsors!' So, he decided that since I don't have curves, they needed to add some." She's glowering in the direction of her stylist, who is chatting with Simia.

I can't help but chuckle. "Does he plan to send you into the arena with that padding?" I laugh, causing her to smack me lightly on the arm.

"You're lucky that trident is fake," she threatens, but she can't stop the smile that is slowly working its way onto her lips, and I'm satisfied with that. As long as I can make her smile, I figure I'm doing my job as her best friend well enough.

We watch as some of the other tributes trickle in, some definitely looking more nervous than others. As the adults are talking, Pearlia turns to me conspiratorially. "So, I ran into the guy from District Two on the way down here," she whispers. "I wasn't planning on saying anything, but I think he recognized me and started talking. I think it's best if he takes position as the leader of the pack. He's not a total idiot, but there's something about him I can't figure out yet. If we push him to take the leader position, it might reveal a weakness that we can use against him."

I nod seriously, pondering her words. After watching the Reaping's, Pearlia and I, as well as our mentors, decided that the smartest decision would be to let the District 2 tributes take their usual positions as Career leaders. We thought there might even be some enmity between the two of them, since the girl looked absolutely livid when the male volunteered. We didn't know what that meant yet, but we intended to find out.

I glance over a couple spots away to look at District 2. Both of them are standing there, and they aren't speaking to each other. Since they're from District 2, it's obvious that they'll both have been trained, but the girl has a severe disadvantage with her height; she is clearly under five feet tall. Besides that, there is some sort of quiet power the guy has that makes me think he is the more dangerous of the two.

"Do you think he'll make a good decision on who should fill the sixth member of the alliance?" I question. It was fairly clear that the girl from District 1 wasn't going to be a Career. Pearlia and I had been debating the pros and cons of some of the other tributes. Both tributes from 11 seemed like the best options, but I was a bit wary of the girl. When she volunteered and was revealed to be the daughter of Victor Gena Johnsyn, our mentors had instantly paled. Mine revealed that Gena was certifiably insane, which gave me an uneasy feeling about her daughter that I haven't been able to shake as of yet.

"Anyone with half a brain is going to try and get the District Eleven tributes on their side," Pearlia points out, still speaking in a whisper. "And I got the impression he has more than half a brain. The real question is if he's going to wait until training tomorrow to try and recruit them or if he's going to do it tonight."

"Probably tomorrow," I decide. "After all, he doesn't know we've made him the leader, does he?" I grin at her, and I'm rewarded with a grin in return. A shine catches my eye, and I turn to find the District 1 male walking in. He's in a shining silver tuxedo that, as uncomfortable as I am, I'm infinitely glad I'm not wearing. He must me boiling in that thing.

"He's probably already decided that he's leader," Pearlia scowls. "Look at him. He's so full of himself," she sniffs with distaste. I can't argue with that. Once he gets over to his chariot, it's clear he's attempting to flirt with Wonder Light, the darling of the Capitol. He even volunteered before they even asked for them at his Reaping, and then declared himself the Victor. Both Pearlia and I were immediately put off by his arrogance.

Unfortunately, we're going to have to work together at least for a little while. Last year, the Career pack was full of tough tributes, and we all expected one of them to be the Victor. But they let clashing personalities get the best of them, and ended up killing each other off quite early on, leaving the way open for Kota Garrison to unexpectedly come away with the win. Pearlia and I were adamant on not repeating those mistakes, even though we knew that we would be unable to get along with the District 1 boy at least.

Eventually, the rest of the tributes trickle in. While there's some low conversation going on between some of the District partners, like District 8, it's quiet for the most part. There won't be any actual conversation until after the ceremonies are over, and even those will likely be brief. Tomorrow is when actual strategy begins.

Once everyone is here, the mentors and stylists begin helping their tributes in their chariots. I climb in and wait for Pearlia, who's having difficulty due to the tightness of her skirt around her knees. Without waiting for her stylist to explain to her what to do, I wordlessly bend, pick her up by the waist, and set her down next to me.

"Thanks," she says lightly, getting a grip on the front of the chariot. I nod in acknowledgement, but then I notice the weird stares from the stylists and our mentors. Even our escort, who is fairly oblivious, is eyeing us in an odd way.

"What?" I ask uncomfortably.

"…Nothing," Pearlia's mentor mumbles, but her answer doesn't convince me. I've done something wrong, but I can't think of what it was. And I need to know what it was. I can't afford to make any mistakes now. "Get ready, you're about to go out," she continues, pointing towards the front.

She is right about that, so I don't have the luxury of pondering what I did at the moment. The District 1 chariot is already out, and I watch on the screens we have in this back area. The boy is waving and winking, playing right into the Capitol's hands. The girl couldn't be more different. She's wearing a black dress encrusted with thousands of tiny gems, and still has that cat mask she was wearing at the Reaping on. She doesn't give any sign of acknowledgement to the audience, and even I have to admit that it comes across as pretty intimidating.

District 2 is out next, the both of them dressed as warriors. They too are waving to the crowd, though they look like they're as far away from each other as it's possible to be on these chariots. In contrast, Pearlia and I are side-by-side.

The District 3 chariot rolls out, and then ours gets into position to follow. Briefly, I take Pearlia's hand and squeeze it. "Smile pretty," I tell her. She grins at me for a moment, and then we turn our heads toward the blinding lights. It's time.

Barley Green, the Kind Learner

District 9 Male

As the opening ceremonies begin to get underway, I can't pretend that I'm not a little nervous. Back in District 9, we see the opening ceremonies as a sick spectacle, a parade of kids where all but one of them will be dead in a month's time. It completely twists my guts to think that the people of the Capitol truly believe this is entertainment. How can anyone be so blind and brainwashed?

But now, it's my part to play. I'm not so foolish that I'm thinking of directly defying the Capitol. If I do, they'll make sure I never come out of the arena alive, and I can't ruin my already slim chances like that. Right now, the most important thing is getting back to my family, Arny, and Nellie.

At least I don't look completely ridiculous. My outfit is made of some white material that, while sheer, isn't completely transparent. There are several gold details of wheat that go up the outfit, and those are totally opaque. They keep the outfit from bordering on indecent. On my head, I'm wearing some sort of headpiece that resembles the Victor's crown, although it's been altered slightly to look like bits of grain woven together. At least I got to wear a top, not like that fellow from District 4 I saw earlier.

Milla's absolutely quaking next to me. I don't think I've heard her speak a single word during the entire train ride, not even to our mentors. She's paralyzed by fear. I can't say that I blame her. She's the smallest tribute, and I'm sure the Careers have signaled her out as an easy target.

I hope she makes it past the bloodbath. But I also hope that I never see her in the arena, because I don't think I'd be able to kill her in cold blood. I'm going to have a hard enough time killing anyone, but these little kids are going to be particularly brutal for me.

"Up you get!" Milla's stylist urges as the Capitol anthem fanfare sounds, and the chariots begin lining up in order. I jump in easily enough, but Milla's having trouble. She's wearing a dress made from the same material as my suit, but her stylist has also paired that with high heels, and I can tell she's uncomfortable in them.

"Here," I smile, offering my hand out to her. She considers me a moment with those wide blue eyes, then tentatively takes my hand, and I help her into the chariot next to me. She grips the railing so hard that her knuckles turn white and stares straight ahead. I sigh. She's going to be completely rigid tonight, and that won't help her. At least she's up.

I take the time before our chariot leaves the gates to study some of the rest of the tributes. Predictably, District 1 is dressed in all gems, though they look startlingly different. The boy is all silver, and the girl is all black and still wearing the same mask she wore at the Reaping. He's playing to the crowd, while she's stock still. The different between her and Milla is that the girl is tall enough to get away with the intimidating angle, especially by hiding her face. It's a solid strategy by her mentor.

District 2 is, as usual, strong and superior. I have no doubts that both have them have been trained, and are elite. They are also waving, but more stoically than the boy from 1. They have been trained to act with dignity. The tributes from District 3 are dressed in thousands of sparkling lights, and even I have to admit that it looks pretty good. Their stylists have a lot to work with in terms of an electricity theme.

District 4 rolls out, and the crowd roars in approval. They're instant fan-favorites, and their costumes that make them look like sea creatures are a huge hit as well. They're also playing to the crowd, and they're standing comfortably close to each other. That might cause some people to raise some eyebrows, but at least they aren't holding hands. After the Mockingjay's Rebellion, people know better than to make _that _mistake.

After the memorable exits of the first four Districts, District 5 is slightly more subdued. They've got what looks like colored wires around them, but they aren't quite as eye-catching as what District 3 has. They aren't waving and smiling like the Career districts, but both of them have the same fire in their eyes that they had at the Reaping. My mentor immediately took note of it and warned me not to count them out, and I haven't. There's something dangerous about both of them, and I don't want to be the one to expose it. I don't know if they've decided to be allies in the arena, but they'd be a nasty pair if they did.

District 6 is a little confusing to me at first. They've been given wings, but not like the wings of a bird. It takes me a minute, but then I get that the wings are reminiscent of the flying hovercrafts the Capitol uses. It's a clever idea for a tricky subject matter; transportation is always hard to come across in a costume. The boy is punching the air, and the crowd is eating it up. The girl, while she's as young as Milla, is smiling in spite of everything.

District 7 comes as no surprise: they're dressed as trees, as they are every single year. They don't look particularly happy, but they manage a few half-hearted waves. For the rest of the Districts that appear, they're fighting an uphill battle in terms of good early odds and sponsors. The Capitol's usual favorite Districts have performed spectacularly. District 7 has an even bigger problem, since they, along with Districts 8, 11, and 12, are considered that taboo Districts after their heavy involvement with the Mockingjay's Rebellion. This year will probably continue that trend with each of those Districts except 11; with two strong volunteers, they're almost certainly going to defy the expectations of the usual District 11 tributes.

District 8 follows, and I only get a glimpse of their outfits, which appear to be different types of materials stitched together, before our chariot rolls to the front of the queue and I'm nearly blinded by the lights flashing down on us. I want to bring my hand up to shield my face, but I can't imagine that will endear me to the Capitolites. I instead choose to blink a few times to try and help adjust my eyes to the light. It works a little bit, but when I feel the chariot start to move, I'm still mostly seeing stars instead of what's actually going on.

The screaming around me is cacophonous. It's impossible for me to detect individual words; everything is blending together. Nevertheless, I manage to put a smile on my lips and raise my hand slightly. I can't pretend I know how to work the crowd like some of the other tributes, but I won't be totally hopeless either.

On the other side of me, Milla is stone still. I don't risk looking down at her, but as my eyes become used to the lights, I can see the two of us on screen. I look more confident than I feel, which is good. Milla, however, doesn't look as scared as she has been. She's not waving or smiling, but her face is set in grim determination. It's far better than being terrified. In spite of everything, I can't help but be a bit proud of her.

We stop in our place in the lineup in front of the President's mansion, but the balcony we're parked in front of is empty for now. In the monitors that line the block, I can see the final Districts come out. District 10 is dressed as vicious coyotes instead of the usual animal herders. It's an interesting, new take.

District 11, as I predicted, comes out to a new surge in the applause. They, too, are early favorites and top contenders. Their outfits aren't particularly spectacular; in fact, they look a lot like mine and Milla's but with a myriad of greens instead of golds, but the way they carry themselves speaks to their confidence. The boy is the most intimidating tribute yet, and the girl plays to the audience as expertly as any of the Careers.

After them, District 12 makes their usual lackluster appearance. They're in simple white clothing coated with some fine, glittery black dust that's supposed to represent coal. I'm sure their stylists would have preferred that they use some sort of synthetic fire to make a bang, but that's strictly forbidden. The boy keeps his head down, and the girl doesn't seem to be all there. I think she even nearly falls off the back at one point.

Finally, the Capitol's anthem comes to an end as their chariot rolls into place, and President Barron Snow emerges onto the balcony. He's the son of the late Coriolanus Snow, and while he's getting up there in years, he still commands a powerful figure. He's a very shrewd man, and has managed to keep his family in power after the confusion of the Mockingjay's Rebellion. It would be an impressive feat if his successes weren't marred by the blood of thousands of innocents.

He raises his arms and the crowd immediately falls silent. No one would dare interrupt him during his opening speech that is the exact same year after year. I can't tell if he's feared or loved in the Capitol, but whatever it is, the respect they have for him is clear. He's forged a throne of steel, and no one dares to think that it might be crushed.

"And to our tributes this year," he says, nearing the end of his speech and addressing us for the first time. An awful smile crosses his face and I feel Milla shiver next to me. I have to work hard to suppress a grimace of my own. "May the odds be _ever _in your favor." He's different from the rest of the citizens living here. He doesn't see us as pieces in a game. He's fully aware that we are all individual human beings with lives and friends and family.

He just doesn't care.

His utter contempt for human life is revolting. I can forgive the common folk; they don't know any better. It would be hard to recognize something as inhumane if you'd been taught from birth that it was normal. But this… this man is actively choosing to be horrendous. If in the rare event I make it out of these Games, I will never forgive him for what he did to my fellow tributes.

We're not the murderers here. We're just the unwitting weapons Barron Snow wields to strike fear into the hearts of the Districts and entertain the citizens of the Capitol. None of the other tributes are my enemies. The only real enemy is the man standing above me.

As he finishes his speech, the anthem plays once again, and the camera sweeps over us before the horses turn around and head back to the alley so we can rest up for the night. I've been looking forward to that moment all day.

But now, I look back behind me. I stare straight into the eyes of Barron Snow. I don't know if he sees me or not, but I sincerely pray he does. It's foolish to do so, but I can't sit by and pretend I'm okay with his tyranny.

If he sees me, he will see a tribute who has figured out the secret of the Games. He will see a tribute who knows who his true enemy is.

Jem Glori, the Confident Charmer

District 1 Male

At the opening ceremonies, I shine, both literally and figuratively. District 1 is almost always popular with the crowd, and stylists have countless opportunities when working with us. I'm impossible to look away from in my silver suit that somehow brings out both my black hair and blue eyes. They'll be talking about me all throughout the buildup to the Games.

As the chariots turn around after the President's speech, I make sure to give a few more waves to the Capitolites. My mentor Dazzle instructed me on the importance of playing to the audience, telling me how important it is to get them to like you. If they like you, they remember you, and then the sponsorships will come rolling in.

I take a look at the girl, Sorelle, next to me. She's weird as hell. I've never seen her remove that strange cat mask from her face, and for some reason her stylist has allowed her to keep it on. I'm not sure if she's working with Wonder Light or not, because I've never seen them speak together, but she seems to be trying to go for an intimidating angle. I'm sure it won't work, not with that bug guy from 11 who won't speak.

I scoff before turning back to the front. Sorelle will be a non-entity in these Games. I'd like to kill her myself, preferably at the bloodbath. That would just be one less person I have to worry about.

Of course, before I can get to that, I have work to do. My fellow Careers and I were eyeing each other before the chariots went out, and it's better to introduce ourselves now instead of later. That way we can talk about who's going to fill Sorelle's spot in the Career pack before we're in training tomorrow. The sooner that spot gets filled, the better.

As the chariots roll to a stop, I immediately hop off, not bothering for even a glance at Sorelle. Tossing my head back, I make my way over to District 2's chariot, and I see both the tributes from District 4 coming over as well.

"You made quite the spectacle of yourself at the Reaping," the boy from District 2 says to me as I approach. "Couldn't wait for her to ask for volunteers, eh?"

"I took the place of my brother," I shrug contemptuously. "He wasn't Reaped of course, but he was planning to volunteer. But I'm better than he is. I had to make sure that I volunteered before he did. I wasn't about to let our family name get embarrassed by him." I leave out the part that he did technically beat me in our bracket system. The others don't need to know that.

"I see," the boy comments. One of his eyebrows is quirked, like he doesn't believe me, but he wisely decides not to press the matter. "I'm Nero," he introduces.

"Jem," I respond, and shake the hand he offers to me. His District partner comes around the side of him.

"I'm Leta," she says, and I shake her hand as well. By this time, the District 4 tributes have arrived and introduce themselves and Zale and Pearlia. I can't help but take notice of Pearlia's beauty. I definitely won't complain about being allied with her throughout our time in the Games.

"So, is this the definitive pack for now? Your District partner isn't going to join?" Leta asks me, to which I scoff again.

"She's worse than useless," I tell them. "She's an urchin, she grew up on the streets. She's never been formally trained a day of her life, and she's scared of her own shadow. It would be a miracle if she survived past the bloodbath."

"Then we need to get someone to fill the spot," Nero says. "I was looking over the rest of the bunch during the recaps yesterday, and both of the tributes from Eleven seem like good picks. I wouldn't be opposed to having both of them in the alliance."

"That's probably the best way to go," Pearlia agrees. "Even if seven is a large group, it's better to have them both in so we can learn how they operate." She stops herself short, as if she's said too much, but I didn't think anything was odd about her statement. She was right. Better to learn their weaknesses early on so I can exploit them later.

That's how Dazzle and I decided that I'm going to win these Games. The biggest threats to me are the other Careers, and of course the tributes from 11. But if I can observe how these people fight, I'll be able to figure out their weaknesses. And once I do that, I can slowly take them out, one by one, once the alliance breaks. The plan is foolproof.

"Well, good," Nero says, and he seems to be asserting himself as the leader of this pack. Though I don't like the thought of having to listen to someone else, it's probably better to let Nero think that he's in charge. This way, I'll be able to get the information I need much better than if I had to worry about constantly telling the others what to do.

Besides, it doesn't look like everyone is thrilled by Nero's position. Leta scowls every time he speaks, and Zale is quiet, but never takes his eyes off Nero. It looks like he's plotting something. If I had assumed leadership, I could be the target of Zale's schemes. But for now, I'll blend into the background a bit, just until I have what I need to make my strike.

"Tomorrow, during training, we can approach both Rye and Scythe, and ask them to join with us," Nero says, and I'm surprised he knows their names. I hadn't even bothered to learn my fellow Career tributes names before now. It even took me a little while to catch on to Sorelle's name. I wonder if he memorized all the tributes names, but what good would that do him? They aren't even going to be alive much longer.

"And what if they both say no?" Zale asks, speaking for the first time since telling us his name. "Do you have a backup in mind?"

"The boy from Six, Malik, he might fit in nicely," Nero responds right away. He's clearly given this some thought. "He's not as big as Rye is, and I'd much rather have the other two over him, but he's a good back up if all else fails." The rest of us nod, though I do notice Zale and Pearlia exchanging a look before doing so. That's weird. I wonder if they knew each other back in District 4. It's not unlikely; they probably met at the training center.

"If neither Scythe nor Rye joins in, we should focus on trying to take them out at the bloodbath," Leta pipes up. "They're easily some of the biggest competition, and taking them out early on is essential to our survival, especially if they form an alliance with some of the other competitors."

"I agree," says Pearlia. "But we can't focus all our efforts on them, that could easily cause us to be distracted by another tribute. I know most of them have never been trained, but neither was Kota Garrison from last year, and he was able to learn how to use a knife quickly enough. Some of the other tributes could easily stab us in the back if we're too preoccupied on one thing. So, we can try to take out Scythe and Rye if they're not with us, but we can't be so focused on them that it gives someone else an easy opportunity to kill us."

Nero is silent while he contemplates all of this. "I agree with Pearlia," he says finally, causing Leta to shoot another nasty glance at him. "As long as Scythe and Rye are alone, they shouldn't be too hard to kill as a pack. And this might all be a moot point anyway. I have a feeling we'll be able to get at least one of them."

"Jem!" I look back and see that it's Dazzle who's called my name. He's waiting with Wonder and Sorelle.

"We'll continue this conversation tomorrow in training," Nero says. "See you then." Zale and Pearlia murmur their goodbyes, then leave with their heads together. Yes, they definitely knew each other before the Games, and they're also more loyal to each other than the pack. That information could be crucial to taking them down.

I saunter back over to my team, and make sure to give Wonder an extra smile. While I'm sure I'll have my pick of gorgeous women to choose from once I've won the Games, Wonder Light would be a fine prize for me. She's considered the most beautiful woman in Panem, and I've never been one to settle for second best. Too bad she hasn't really acknowledged my presence yet. Oh well, if she wants to play hard to get, all the more fun for me. I like a challenge.

And she'll be forced to acknowledge me when I emerge as Victor of the Games. All of Panem will adore me, and I have no doubt she'll do the same.

We come to the Training Center, which has several floors for each of the tributes to stay. Of course, we get floor one. There's a recap of the opening ceremonies playing on the television, but Dazzle orders me to bed. Sorelle, predictably, escaped to her room the second we arrived at our floor.

I get into my room and order a servant there to help me out of my silver suit. He immediately follows my orders, and does so without talking. I can't help but smirk to myself. This will be my life every single day after I win. I'm so close to my victory that I can almost taste it. I don't really care much for the training we'll get in the next three days. I've trained my whole life. I can't wait to get into the arena and begin to show Panem what I'm truly made of.

I'm changed out of my costume quickly and I slip on some silk pajama bottoms. Getting enough sleep is imperative since, while I'll probably be able to get more sleep than others during the arena, it won't be for as many hours as I'm used to. I want to be as well rested as possible before that happens, just like I want to be as well fed as possible.

I'm just pulling the covers off my bed when I hear footsteps go past my door. Curious, I head over and crack open the door slightly, just enough for me to see what's going on in the hall.

At first, I see nothing. It seems our mentors have gone to bed as well. But no, right at the end of the hall there's a figure. Upon another moment of inspection I see that it's Wonder, and it looks like she's waiting for the elevator. A soft _ping_ sounds through the halls, and she steps inside, disappearing from view.

For a moment, I think about telling Dazzle what I saw. But I decide against it. Wonder's a Victor. She's the darling of the Capitol and I wouldn't be surprised if she has special meetings with Capitolites all during her time as a mentor. If she's that busy, it can only help me. I'll have the full attention of my mentor, and Sorelle won't have that luxury.

I crawl back into bed, forgetting what I saw. Instead, I fall asleep to the glorious sounds of the Capitol anthem, with a voice announcing Jem Glori as the Victor of the 134th Hunger Games.

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**A/N: I hope you liked the chapter! Next time, we'll get into the first of the training chapters I have planned. Also, thank you to everyone who's voted on the poll so far, and for every review I've gotten. It truly does make my day when I get reviews. I'll see you next time.**

**~TT**


	10. Training Part 1

**A/N: Sorry for being gone so long. Basically, a whole hell of a lot happened over the past couple months and I simply did not have the time to write. I won't bore you with the details. However, now that we're all in quarantine and I'm not working for a couple more weeks, I've got lots of time to keep writing for you all! I hope you enjoy!**

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Pearlia Beta Poplawski, the Driven Perfectionist

District 4 Female

As Zale and I are eating breakfast the day after the opening ceremonies, our escort enters the room in an overly excited state. She's nearly vibrating with energy.

"The early odds are in!" she trills. "Both Zale and Pearlia are at the very top! The people are definitely rooting for a District Four Victor this year. I've already had several important, not to mention rich, sponsors wanting to pledge themselves to helping the two of you."

I turn to Zale, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across my lips. This is exactly how we wanted to start the Games. Making a loud statement even before we get into the arena was essential for us to do.

"Make sure to send those sponsors our way," my mentor, Coral, murmurs while drinking a large mug of coffee. "We can help early promotion of the two of you while you're training for the next couple of days. You have your strategy, yes?"

I nod my head. "We're going to do some survival skills as well as practice with our usual weapons," I say. I could have recited the sentence in my sleep. Our plan has been several years in the making, and now we're finally able to put it into action. I won't, can't, falter now. I've done everything right so far, and I will continue to do so. I've set perfection as my standard, and I must maintain it. That's the only way to keep sponsors until the end of the Games, and now that I've seen some of my competition, I know that I'll have to rely on any help that I can get.

Some of my fellow Career tributes, like Jem, don't seem to present much of a threat to me. I feel as though I could defeat Leta as well, when it comes down to it. Though I have no doubt she's a capable and strong warrior, she's over a foot shorter than me. My height is an easy advantage I have over her.

The only one that really worries Zale and I is Nero. He's not just a meat shield; he's got a smart head on his shoulders. That, in combination with how District 2's tributes are usually trained, means that he's going to be tough competition. However, I'm confident that Zale and I together should be able to take care of him.

In fact, as long as Zale's with me, I don't think there's a single competitor that could stand up to us. We've proven that we're strong enough on our own; together we have an unbelievable advantage. I'm going into the arena with someone I can trust, and that's more than any of the others can say.

Of course, there's that one annoying thought that keeps probing at the back of my mind. I know both Zale and I can't win. One of us will be dead in just a few short weeks. But I also know for certain that if it came down to it, I wouldn't be able to take his life myself. In my plan of perfection throughout these Games, this is the only wrench in my plans. Unfortunately, it's a massive wrench, and it could very likely get me killed.

I can't think about this now. I have to focus on what's happening now, and I'll worry about what to do with Zale later. Now, I have to prove to the Gamemakers that I've lived up to my title as the strongest female in District 4.

"You should get ready to go down within the next couple of minutes," Zale's mentor comments as he looks up at the clock on the wall. "You don't want to be late. That won't make a good impression to the Gamemakers, especially…" he trails off, glancing at Coral for a split-second. I can't help but wonder what he was about to say, but I know it's not my place to ask. No doubt it was sensitive information, and I know better than to inquire about that now.

Instead, Zale and I finish our breakfasts and follow our escort down to the training center. As we make our way, I pull my long hair, which is thankfully straight again after the elaborate curls it was forced into last night, into a high ponytail so it won't get in the way. Despite obviously not being in District 4, this is beginning to feel like just another day of training for me. It's familiar and comforting as opposed to all the glitz and unnatural brightness that I've been met with so far in the Capitol.

We're one of the first pairs of tributes to arrive, though a couple of others have made their way down here. Nero and Leta are already waiting anxiously, and Nero raises his hand solemnly while Leta gives us a stiff nod in acknowledgement. I've memorized all the tributes' names and faces, and I see the pair from District 5, Jaxs and Aurora, are here as well. They don't seem to be particularly interested in talking to anyone, and I've already ruled them out as allies. Still, there's something unsettling about their twin grimly determined faces. They are not to be counted out.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, the rest of the tributes trickle in. The two thirteen-year-old girls are predictably small and one of them can't stop shaking. Jem and Malik, on the other end of the spectrum, are flexing their muscles and smirk at the myriad of less confident tributes. I wholeheartedly hope that either Rye or Scythe agrees to work with us, so we don't have to recruit Malik. I'm already forced to deal with Jem's ego, and I don't think I'd have the patience to put up with Malik's as well. He's not even from a trained District, so he has less reason for his confidence than even Jem.

The lead trainer gives us a few opening words, and reminds us that we're not to spar with the other tributes or do anything that might potentially cause them harm. As she speaks, in a balcony above us, I see the Gamemakers enter. The man in the front, who I can only assume is the lead Gamemaker, is mostly devoid of the usual heavy modifications that are staple in the Capitol. He sits down at the edge of the balcony and watches us with dark, shrewd eyes.

It's odd that I don't know his name. I vaguely recognize him from previous years, but he was only a background figure. This must be his first year as head Gamemaker, which means that the arena is likely to be something crazy this year. He'll obviously want to start his career with a loud bang.

We're given the all clear to begin, and Zale and I make our way over to Nero and Leta. "I'll talk to the District Eleven tributes over the course of the morning," Nero says. "I'll let you know at break how it goes." Zale and I nod, then split off from the other two.

"What do you want to start with first?" I ask him, looking around the room. He mirrors my movements, taking in mostly poor attempts of the other tributes who are obviously handling weapons for the first time. There are, however, a few standouts.

Scythe from District 11 has marched straight over to the weapon for which she's named and even after only a few moments of watching her, it's clear that she's an expert. The trainer is clearly excited by her as well as she effortlessly moves through the first few exercises he gives her. Nero is in line next, no doubt to attempt to recruit her.

The boy from District 5, Jaxs, is setting up a few traps, and he does so with relative ease. That's an interesting skill for someone from District 5, and I immediately know I was right not to count him out.

Malik, however, goes straight to the wrestling mat, and it's obvious he's been in a few brawls before. It explains his ego, at least. However, in my thorough examination of past games, it rarely comes down to fistfights. The Capitolites much prefer to see the tributes hack each other up with weapons rather than wrestling.

"Let's do some survival skills in the morning, and in the afternoons, we'll do weapons training," Zale suggests. I nod my head. It's a solid strategy. Both of us know that the area we might be lacking in is survival. The academies in District 4 touch on some survival training, but weapons training is clearly their priority.

Throughout the morning, the two of us go over basic skills such as recognizing edible berries and plants from poisonous ones, learn how to make some traps for food in the unlikely event we won't be able to rely on the supplies from the Cornucopia, and refining our skills in building fires. As with most things, I refuse to move on from a station until I'm totally confident in my abilities.

By the time a loud, shrill bell rings to announce our lunch hour, Zale and I are just finishing up learning a basic trap. It's not too fancy, but it will be enough to catch us small game in the arena. Tomorrow, we decide to focus on traps that are designed to catch other tributes. Those will be far more complicated, but I'm determined to learn them as well. One can never have too many skills going into the Games.

As we head into the lunchroom, I immediately spot Nero and Jem already sitting down. Rye is with them, but Scythe is nowhere to be seen. I take a spot across from Nero as Zale sits beside me. Within a few minutes, Leta is there as well so I turn to Rye.

"So, you agree to join our alliance?" I ask him. He nods silently. I noticed at the Reaping he wrote his name down instead of saying it aloud, but I can't tell if he actually can't speak or if he's putting on a show. Hopefully, time will tell.

"What about Scythe?" Leta asks. Nero shrugs.

"I asked her if she'd be interested, but she said she'd have to think about it," he says. "I don't think she's a necessity at this point though, not now that we have Rye. Six is a good number for a strong alliance. In any case, I don't think Scythe is going to be joining us." He points to the other table with a fork, and I turn to see Scythe sitting and seemingly enjoying a friendly conversation with the girl from District 10, Phoenix. Sorelle, Jem's district partner, is also sitting with them, though she doesn't seem as engaged in the conversation.

"Well, I agree with Nero," Zale speaks up. "I think this is a strong group and we shouldn't have many problems when we get to the arena. I don't want to talk too much strategy yet though, just in case some of the other tributes are listening in."

Nero nods his head. "That's a smart move," he commends Zale. For the rest of the lunch hour, talk is superficial, but I do get to know more about my fellow tributes. Rye never says a thing, but he'll answer yes or no questions if they're directed at him. Leta seems nice, if guarded, but that's not surprising. I would actually like both her and Nero if not for the circumstances. Jem is as annoying as ever, but he seems to have accepted Nero as the leader and doesn't espouse upon himself too much. If he keeps up this attitude, I think I'll be able to tolerate him.

However, before long, I start to get restless. I can't wait to get my hands on a sword. When the clanging bell rings again, I'm one of the first on my feet. I grab Zale's hand and practically drag him back to the training center. He laughs at my exuberance, but I'm too excited to care that he's teasing me.

"Starting with swords? I don't get to do my specialties yet?" he smirks. I roll my eyes at him, but can't help a smile from playing on my lips.

"We'll get to those later," I promise him as we line up. I select a weapon and glance up at the ever-watchful Gamemakers above before turning to the trainer. It's time for them to see what I can do.

Jaxs Williams, the Quiet Defendant

District 5 Male

I grit my teeth as the knife I throw just misses the mark for the third time in a row. I thought that I might have an edge since I've been throwing my kitchen knives since I was little, but the balance is completely different. All the knives here are balanced at the hilt of the knife instead of the handle being significantly heavier like I'm used to.

"You're throwing them wrong," the trainer says gruffly as he looks over at me. "With throwing knives, you have to counter the rotation of the knife, so it stays on course and still has power when it hits your target." He demonstrates a couple of times before letting me try again. "You've got the strength enough to do it. You just have to know the right technique," he explains as I stare down the target.

I do my best to imitate the trainer by countering the knife rotation and having my arm follow through the entire throw instead of stopping when the knife leaves my hand. I instantly feel the difference, and it shows. The knife hits the target this time. It may not be a bullseye, but it's still a solid throw and far superior than what I was doing before.

"Much better," the trainer nods. "Try a couple more, then I've got to send you packing."

With my last few throws, I improve each time. When I'm ushered away, I feel confident that if I get my hands on a couple knives in the arena, I should have a fighting chance. My mentor and I have decided on a quiet strategy for me. He doesn't want me looking for fights, but he also doesn't want me to hesitate to kill if I come across someone. It's a strategy that has proved well for Victors in the past, especially for Victors from non-Career districts.

I glance around the room, looking for another station to try. It's only the first day, but I feel good about the progress I've made so far. I excelled at the traps they had me try and the trainer was excited about my abilities. I also learned how to start a fire as well as tried my hand at some of the basic survival stations. It's not much compared to the kids that have been training their entire lives for this, but I'm determined to soak up all the information I can. Not trying is the equivalent of signing my own death warrant. And I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

Of course, I've also been sizing up my opponents throughout the day. The Careers and the pair from District 11 are predictably strong, but I knew that just from the Reaping's alone. What I really wanted to know was if there were going to be any surprises. So far, I haven't seen much that would give me a cause for concern.

Of course, there's one exception, and that's my district partner, Aurora. We haven't spoken much, and neither of us harbored any intention of allying with each other simply because we were from the same district. Still, there's something about her that's throwing me off, and I haven't managed to put my finger on it yet.

I've been keeping a close eye on her today, and so far, I haven't seen much that worries me. She's focusing mostly on survival skills, and is only mediocre at best with them. What I've observed has put me at ease, but I won't let my guard down completely. Doing so will get me killed.

As for the others, most of them are underfed and underprepared. The boy from District 6, Malik, is an exception to this as he's excelled in wrestling, but his ego clearly outshines his abilities. From what I gathered, I think he tried to team up with the Careers, but they already recruited the boy from District 11 and told Malik they didn't want anyone else. He was clearly disgruntled by that, and he's been talking to a couple of the other boys. It looks as though he might be forming another alliance.

An alliance is something I want no part of. I decided that very early on. I work best alone, and I always have. Every person going into the arena with me is my enemy, and I don't want to give someone the ability to figure out my weaknesses. My mentor told me that I might get farther with one or two close allies, but I haven't seen anyone here that I could trust not to stab me in the back.

I turn away from the others and take a look at the other stations. There's not much time left in the day, but I could still get something in. I decide to go over to the weights, just for a short workout. My father always insisted on having me work out to keep up appearances, so I'm decently strong. I don't have the bulging muscles like the boys from Districts 2 and 4, but if I get into a fistfight with almost anyone else in the arena, I should be able to win.

As I'm standing in line and waiting for the girl from District 2 to finish up, I'm approached by Malik and two other boys, the ones from Districts 7 and 10. I'm wary, but I don't want to show that to them, so instead I simply incline my head in greeting.

"'Sup," Malik says as he leans against the wall. "So, you don't seem completely useless. Wanna join my alliance to take down the Careers?"

Well, he gets right to the point. I'm not completely shocked he wants me to join him, but I'm not breaking my rule for him. "Sorry, but I don't think that's for me," I tell them, trying to look around to see if the station has opened up yet. However, Malik isn't done trying.

"Come on, you have to know you don't stand a chance by yourself," he scoffs. I raise my eyebrow at him. If this is supposed to make me want to team up with him, it's a terrible tactic. If anything, I'm more turned away than ever. "I'll take you farther than you ever could go on your own. And we can take down the Careers together."

"I said no," I repeat forcefully. Malik stares me down for a moment, but then scowls and turns away.

"You're gonna regret this," he warns. "I'll take you down myself, in the bloodbath. Then you're gonna wish that you'd taken me up on my offer. And I don't offer second chances either, so don't come crawling back to me if you understand that this was a mistake. You're a dead man." With that, he lumbers off with the other two in his tow.

I can't help but to allow myself an eyeroll. I'm not planning on participating in the bloodbath. If there's anything near me, I'll grab it, but the bloodbath is for the Careers. Most of the others who try and get in the middle of it end up dead. If Malik wants to throw himself into the bloodbath, he can be my guest. It'll be less for me to worry about later.

Eventually, I get my turn with the weights, and after that we're told that it's a wrap on the day. The lead trainer gives us a short speech, and I can see Malik shooting me dark looks all throughout. While his behavior is petty, it's also annoying. He's marked me out, and I don't need to go into the arena with someone trying to hunt me down. I'll just have to hope one of the Careers takes care of him in the bloodbath.

At least there's one good thing to come out of all this: I know exactly what Malik's intentions are. I can't say that about anyone else going into the arena with me. My poor people-reading skills are definitely presenting a problem for me. I can't tell which of the Careers is likely to betray the others. I can't tell who has already given up and who is ready to fight to the bitter end. Sure, I can make some educated guesses to these questions, but I'm not confident at all that my answers would be correct.

After the trainer finishes speaking, we're instructed to go back to our floors. A few tributes join me on the elevator, Aurora included. As I glance at her, I'm struck by the fact that I was wrong. Malik isn't the only person in the arena that I'm able to read. Though I haven't spoken much with Aurora since we've been reaped, I've seen the look in her eyes thousands of times before. It's the same look that my father wears whenever he's confronted with a problem. Most of her expression is blank, but her shrewd eyes betray her. She has a plan. Just as I originally suspected of her, she hasn't given up.

But this is as far as I can tell. Her mediocrity in training could be a ploy for the Careers not to count her as a problem, but it might not. She might have a hidden talent that she could be waiting for her private session to show off, or she might even wait until the Games themselves. While I can tell that she has a plan in place, I'm clueless as to what that actual plan might be.

The elevator doors open with a soft _ping_ as they arrive on the fifth floor. Aurora and I disembark together, and her eyes flicker to me for just a moment before she turns back to the front. Already, I can smell the aroma of rich foods that has obviously been prepared for our dinner.

We eat dinner in relative quiet, but when we're nearly finished my mentor Boothe gestures to speak to me in a private room. I push myself away from the table, feeling eyes on my back, but I don't allow myself to look back to see who those eyes belong to.

"So, I got a message from one of the mentors from District Six today. Apparently, his tribute is interested in an alliance with you," Boothe states, getting right to the point. I simply shrug.

"The kid came up to me today in training. I turned him down," I explained. "I said before, I can't trust anyone in the arena enough to ally with them. He wasn't too happy about my answer though, so I wouldn't be surprised if the offer was rescinded."

Boothe scowls at me. "You didn't make any enemy out of him, did you?" he growls. Before I can answer, I guess he can read the truth on my face, because he scoffs wordlessly. "Part of the plan of keeping your head down was to make sure you didn't have anyone targeting you," he reminds me.

"I know. It's not my fault the kid has a serious anger problem," I huff in an attempt to defend myself. Boothe scrubs his face for a moment.

"Fine. If that's true, he'll probably find a few more enemies before you all go in. Just don't do anything to piss off anyone else until then, alright?" he stresses. I nod silently, and Boothe sends me off to bed.

Strangely, my talk with Boothe didn't rattle me too much. Yes, Malik might be my enemy, but so is Aurora, and everyone else stepping foot into the arena with me, even the little thirteen-year-old girls. Other tributes might have machinations and plans, but so do I. I just have to trust in myself and be smart. This, I know I can do. It's more than many of the other tributes have, and it might just be my ticket to winning these Games.

Phoenix "Nix" Grey, the Protective Lover

District 10 Female

It's day two of training, and so far, I've managed to stay fairly quiet. The other tributes are sizing each other up, and I don't want to be seen as a potential threat. So far, I've focused mostly on survival knowledge. District 10 is mostly made up of plains, and it's likely the arena will be terrain I'm not familiar with. Gaining as much knowledge about how to survive is essential for me.

But today, I know I'll have to start focusing on actual weapons training. I know that if I want to win these Games and get back to Felicity and Charlene, I will have to kill. It's the last thing I want to do, but over the past few days, it's a truth that I've grown to accept. I probably won't rack up as many kills as the Careers, but if someone attacks me, I won't go down without a fight.

As I head into the center to begin my training, the girl from District 11, Scythe, sees me from across the room and begins heading in my direction. We were at a few of the same stations yesterday, along with Sorelle from District 1, and Scythe was friendly to both of us. Despite knowing better, I like Scythe a lot. She reminds me a little bit of Charlene, though there's a danger about Scythe that is quite obvious whenever she picks up a weapon. She quickly proved from the first day that she was as skilled as any of the Careers. Sorelle never says much, but I like her as well. When she does speak, she's very smart, though she's also skittish. Yesterday, for example, she taught me very quickly how to build a fire. She's also one of the fastest tributes, which isn't surprising considering her size. She's the tallest tribute here, even taller than the giant boys from Districts 2, 4, and 11, though she's clearly always wanted for food.

"Hey Nix," Scythe greets as she finally reaches me. "What were you going to focus on today?"

"Knives, I think," I murmur. The huge weapons like swords and maces intimidate me. Knives seem like something I might actually be able to get the hang of a little bit in the time we have.

"I'll join you, if that's alright," Scythe says, and I nod my assent. Scythe could probably give me as good, if not better, advice as the trainer running the station. She casually mentioned yesterday that she's been trained in all types of weapons, and though the scythe is her specialty, she's proficient with most everything else.

As we line up for the knife station, Scythe waves Sorelle over to join us. The taller girl hesitates for just a moment, but decides that Scythe is sincere in her friendliness. She steps into line behind me, and then Scythe turns to the both of us.

"So, I know we've kind of danced around the topic, but I'm just going to come out and say it. Do you guys want to be in an alliance?" she asks. "I think both of you are smart and capable, and we'll have a better chance if we go in together."

I bite my lip. She's right; if I join an alliance, my chances of living increase exponentially. I have no chance of getting into the Career alliance, and the only other alliance that seems to be forming (one that my district partner Malinois is part of) seems to be made of only males and is led by that awful boy Malik. This is the only chance I have for an alliance.

And yet… do I really want to do it? I like Scythe and Sorelle, that much is for sure, but entering an alliance will likely only strengthen our friendship which would make it that much harder to kill them in the end. Besides, even though Scythe seems perfectly friendly now, it could very easily just be a façade. She's been trained as a Career so she might have zero qualms about stabbing us in the back when the time is right for her.

"I'll have to think about it," Sorelle whispers, barely audible behind her cat mask. I'm curious as to why she always wears it, but haven't managed the courage yet to ask. Scythe just nods like she was expecting that answer before facing me.

"Umm, I'll have to do that same," I murmur. "But I'll let you know sometime today, okay?"

"Sounds good," Scythe says, as amiable as ever. It's her turn for the station now, and she steps up, leaving me with my thoughts, and throws the knives around with the same skill she exhibits in everything she does. These might not be her favorite weapons, but she wasn't kidding when she said she was able to handle most anything.

If she's sincere about this alliance, she could be one of the most valuable allies to have. My mentor was visibly excited when I told her last night how I'd spent most of the day with Scythe. I'm sure everyone looking for an alliance wanted to recruit her. And yet, she's chosen to cast her lot with me. Strategically, it's not the smartest move. I may be better equipped than some of the other tributes, but I'm sure no one has picked me out as an actual threat. Sorelle is in the same boat as me: far from helpless, but not a likely contender. To me, I see that as an indicator that Scythe might just be playing with us to gain our trust before easily taking us out in the arena.

And if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm much more of a risk than Sorelle. She's at least from a Career district, and while I don't think she's been trained in the traditional sense, District 1 is always popular with sponsors. When I volunteered for Felicity, I shot myself in the foot. I wasn't thinking of anything at the time other than my desperation to save my little sister, but afterwards, it became blatantly obvious that what I did was similar to the Mockingjay. I'd have to be far more spectacular than I actually am if I even want a prayer of getting sponsors. No one would want to risk sponsoring someone who resembles the Mockingjay in any way. I'm a risk, and not one with particularly good odds.

But if Scythe was serious about doing whatever it took to win these Games, it would have made much more sense for her to team up with the Careers, who are much larger threats than Sorelle and I. Scythe wouldn't need to backstab us; she could easily win in a fight with either of us without any trickery involved. And it's not like the Careers wouldn't take her. Just yesterday, I saw the boy from District 2 attempt to get her to join their alliance. That would be the smart thing to do. But she turned them down.

"Nix!" Scythe's voice calls out, breaking me out of my reverie. "You're up," she calls, stepping back from the station. I take her place, and the trainer briefly explains how to use knives. It's a lot to take in, but I try to remember as much as I can.

I don't go for throwing the knives like Scythe did. According to the trainer, knowing how to throw knives is a skill that looks much easier than it actually is and takes practice. More than likely, if I try to throw a knife at an enemy, I'll just end up giving them a free weapon. So melee combat it is for me.

I grab a practice knife, then begin my combat with the trainer. While it's clear that he's going easy on me, it's also obvious that I'm outclassed. He disarms me within a minute before ordering me on my feet to try again. Before I go back in, Scythe steps up.

"You're smaller than he is, so get under his weapon arm," she instructs gently. "That way he won't be able to attack you and you'll have a free shot to his chest and midsection." I glance at her, but can't see any sign in her face that she's trying to trick me. And her advice is practical. Even I can see how it would be helpful.

I face down the trainer and try again with the advice Scythe gave me. It takes me a few tries, but eventually I'm able to use my natural speed to do exactly what she said. And she's right. Once I can get under the trainer, I land what would be a killing blow were we not using fake knives.

"Well done," the trainer commends. "I've got to move on to the next tribute, but you should be fairly well equipped if you can get your hands on a knife in the arena. Just remember not to try anything too fancy. Basics will get you farther than you might expect." I nod again and thank him for his time. I exit the station and go to stand by Scythe as we wait for Sorelle to finish her turn.

"Good job," she whispers to me. "You're quick, so that will also help against some of the bigger tributes. However, you're of fairly average size, so it's likely you'll be finding yourself fighting both bigger and smaller tributes than you. If someone is smaller, keep your arms close to your body. That way, they can'tget under _your_ guard. I'd show you now, but we're not supposed to train with each other."

I blink at her. Though we're fairly close in height, Scythe is a couple inches shorter than me. She's giving me advice on how to take someone like her out. I've always been good at reading people ever since my parents betrayed me, and I'm naturally wary of most people. I can see the slight disgust people often have when they learn of my sexuality. Though obviously Scythe doesn't know of my sexuality, I've seen the same wariness in the eyes of most of the tributes here. They are hostile. They don't trust me.

I see none of that in Scythe's face. I see nothing but honesty and earnestness. And I believe she's not the kind of person to stab me in the back. My decision is made.

"I think we should do that alliance," I tell her. "We'd make a good team, especially if Sorelle decides to join us as well."

She looks surprised, but pleased. "Excellent! I'm honored to go into the Games with a worthy ally," she beams. "And you're better than you think you are. I'll do my best to train you a bit in the arena. If anything happens to me, you'll be able to keep yourself safe."

"I'll join too," a soft voice says from over my shoulder. I whip around to see Sorelle standing there. For being so tall, she has stealth in spades, even when she isn't trying. "I think we have skills that compliment each other, and I think you're nice." Her voice gets ever softer as she speaks, but I can't see her expression thanks to her mask. Though it's hard for me to get a read on people without seeing their face, especially their eyes, I have little doubts that Sorelle is also sincere. I've made friends in the most unlikely of places.

"Then it's settled," Scythe grins. "We'll go into that arena together and tackle whatever the Gamemakers have to throw at us. And we'll prove to everyone that we aren't to be underestimated." She looks around at the stations. "Where to next girls?"

She's enthusiastic, that much is for sure. And while allying with one of the strongest tributes certainly puts a wrench in my plans to remain under the radar, I don't regret my choice. These two will not betray me. And now, I actually have a chance of getting home to Felicity and Charlene. With their faces in my mind, for the first time I feel confident that I will see them again.

Siri Sparks, the Naïve Analyzer

District 3 Female

It's only the second day of training, and already I'm so frustrated. No one will tell me what's going on. The mentors refuse to let me know how the show is going to work, and even here everyone is still playing the part of the Games being real. As such, I don't know what I'm supposed to do when I get to the arena. I don't know how I'm supposed to act to fake my death, and if I ruin their show out of ignorance, I doubt the Capitol would ever let my parents come and join me.

The other tributes aren't very helpful either. I've tried getting to know my district partner Percy, and at first, he seemed really nice. He was shy, and definitely scared, so when no one else was around, I told him that there was nothing to worry about, and he just looked at me like I was crazy. Since then, he hasn't spoken much to me.

It's so frustrating that I just want to scream. I know that I'm probably the only tribute that thinks the Games are fake, but I know I'm right. My parents are brilliant, and they can see through the show. They would never tell me this was the case unless they were absolutely sure. They would never lie to me.

As such, I'm just sitting in the corner of the training center, supposed to be practicing making a fire, but I'm not really paying much attention. It's not like it matters anyway. I'm more interested in learning about the rest of the tributes since I'll probably be spending the rest of my life with most of the them in some corner of the Capitol. So far, a few alliances have started, but I'm not tempted to join any of them. The Careers have made their usual pack, and there seems to be a boy's group, headed by Malik, and a girl's group, headed by Scythe. None of them seem to be people I'd really get along with.

"Mind if we join you?" I hear a soft voice over my shoulder. I turn around to find that the girl from District 8, Bree, is the one who spoke. Her district partner Samuel is next to her. They've been inseparable as long as I've seen them, and I think they knew each other in their district, though I don't know their exact relationship. His volunteering was unusual though, so I would guess they have a pretty strong bond.

"Yeah, sure," I say absentmindedly before going back to watching the others. I hear the sounds of flint sparking and soft voices, but I don't pay them much attention.

After a few minutes, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder. It's Bree again. "Do you need help or something? You haven't moved much," she murmurs.

"Oh, I'm fine," I shrug. "I'm just trying to watch everyone else. I want to learn as much as I can about them since we'll be spending the rest of our lives trying to get along with each other." Bree and Samuel glance at each other before turning back to me.

"What are you talking about? Is that supposed to be sarcasm?" Samuel asks. "We're not trying to get along. Quite the opposite. We're literally all trying to kill each other." I sigh loudly at his words. I'm sick of playing this charade.

"Wanna know a secret?" I say, making sure to lower my voice. I don't want any of the trainers to overhear and report me to the Gamemakers. They look at me in confusion, but lean their heads in. "The Games are a farce," I tell them. Before I can explain, they both get twin incredulous looks on their faces.

"What do you mean?" Bree asks, seeming to be genuinely surprised.

"I don't think anyone actually dies," I go on. Seeing that Samuel is about to interrupt, I quickly move on. "Think about it! The Capitol wants nothing more than to make their own lives better, right? That's why the districts exist in the first place. But there's only so much we can do from the districts. So, they watch us and reap the kids who have skills they can put to use here rather than out in the districts. They just keep up the lie of the Games to entertain the citizens, and keep the districts in line."

Bree swallows as she takes in the information I've given her. "That's… quite a stretch to make," she says delicately. Clearly, she doesn't believe me. I roll my eyes. She, and the rest of the tributes, will learn that I'm right soon enough.

"Have _you _ever seen a body come back to your district?" I question. "The coffins are always nailed shut and Peacekeepers make sure that they're never opened. There's no proof that it's not all a lie."

"Okay, but there's no proof that it is," Samuel points out. I frown. I guess there isn't much proof of that, but I've always chocked that up to the Capitol not wanting the secret to get out. They have to make things look convincing. There are just too many holes that don't make sense to me.

"My parents have been studying the Games for years on the television," I say. "My father has pointed out how they usually show the gore close up unless it's the bloodbath. Details are too complicated to make out at the bloodbath. In both of these cases, he says that it could easily be an editing trick. If the Capitol has enough resources to make all their muttations, they could easily fake the Games."

Bree and Samuel share another look, and I can tell that while I've piqued their interest, I've by no means convinced them. "So, you're not even trying to prepare?" Bree asks.

I shake my head. "I don't see the need. I doubt the Capitol will choose me as the Victor, so I've accepted that I'll need to fake my death. I just wish they would tell us how already. I don't like waiting in the dark."

"But what happens if you're wrong?" Bree asks nervously. "If the Games are real, you'll be easy pickings for the Careers. Don't you at least want a chance of living if it turns out everything is true?"

"I'm not wrong," I insist stubbornly. Samuel and especially Bree still look concerned, however, so I guess I could placate them a little. "I guess I'll learn to use a weapon though, just in case," I grumble. Bree nods slowly, and then she and Samuel go off to another station. Not seeing much of a point in staying here, I wander around until I'm in line to learn basic knife techniques.

I wish someone here could understand where I'm coming from. My parents can't be the only ones in Panem who've ever figured out the truth. Scythe Johnsyn's mother is a Victor, for crying out loud! She must know… but then why would Scythe have volunteered? Is she hoping that because she's a volunteer, she'll be the chosen Victor this year?

I'm fairly confident that the Victor this year will be one of the volunteers. There was such a high number, particularly in the outer districts, and the Capitol won't be getting many of the children they originally wanted. Maybe that's why they aren't allowed to tell me anything yet. Maybe they don't want the tributes to know anything until they've selected who their Victor is going to be. Yes, that makes sense.

The line moves forward as I'm pondering my thoughts, and eventually I find myself at the front. I stare at the trainer as he's explaining things to me, but I'm only half-listening. By the time I'm allowed to practice, I can tell that my skills are quite poor. The trainer tries to help me as best as he can, and I manage a few moves, but I'm far from a master, or even proficient. But it doesn't matter to me. I won't be chosen as the Victor. I just want the Games to be over already so I can start my new life.

Luckily, after my turn with the knives, the day is almost over, so I don't have to bother pretending to go through another station. Tomorrow, I won't try. I'll go back to watching the others. I don't care what other tributes think of me. Eventually, they'll all be forced to acknowledge that I'm right.

As the head trainer finishes her last speech for the day, I nearly run out of the room. I'm so over the tediousness of the training. I hop into an elevator and am joined by quite a few of the other tributes. I see my district partner Percy, as well as Aurora from District 5. From what I managed to learn of Percy, he's quite skilled in programming, and has an interest in creating video games. Aurora tries to stay quiet, but I can recognize her intellect. Tributes from District 5 usually end up being quite smart, and I don't think she's an exception.

The Capitol would never kill off these people. Their minds are too valuable. Percy, Aurora, and I can all make their lives far better if we live, and that's just the bare minimum. The other tributes, especially the reaped ones, all have some sort of skill that the Capitol covets. Why would people as selfish as the Capitol be willing to throw it all away?

No, the more I think of things, the more convinced I am that I have to be right. I guess I can understand the points of view of the others a little better: I'm telling them not to believe something they've been told their entire lives. It's hard to completely change one's mindset. Besides, many of these tributes have accepted the fact that they're going to die. I doubt they want to get their hopes up if that's the case.

So I will stay quiet. I won't mention what I know to be true to any more tributes, not even the mentors. Until such time as they decide to finally let us in on the secret, I won't mention it. But I will carry my confidence with me the whole way through. They cannot take that away from me.

And when I go to bed that night, I do so with a smile on my face. I only have a few more days of waiting. Then, my new life will begin, and it will be greater than anything I could have ever imagined. I'm sure of it.

* * *

**A/N: And that's that! I'm really enjoying having the tributes finale interact with each other, and creating the alliances has been a ton of fun. I dearly hope that the next update will be quicker than this one was, because I'm truly having fun writing this. Thank you for your patience, as well as those who've reached out to me to make sure I was alright during my brief hiatus. I hope you all enjoy, and please review!**

**~TT**


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